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A DISTINGUISHED REVIEWER SAYS OF 


PRAIRIE FLOWER :~ 


“ Prairie Flower” is indeed a remarkable book, and contains 
all the elements for present popularity and enduring fame. It is 
brim-full of life, love, passion, sentiment, humor and pathos; and 
its glowing descriptions, romantic incidents, daring adventures, 
fearful perils, thrilling exploits, dreadful accidents, and hair- 
breadth escapes — all run through and interweave with a deep, 
ingenious and intricate plot. The scene is on and over the 
Broad Prairies and Rocky Mountains of the Mighty West, before 
the conquering tread of civilization had entered upon their vast 
solitudes, when roving tribes of Indians, and a few half-civilized 
hunters and trappers, traversed the lonely region, literally carrying 
their lives in their hands 

. . . . We feel no hesitation in placing Mr. Bennett among 

the foremost of American writers. Of course we do not include 
metaphysics, nor history, nor philosophy, (although it must bo 
confessed that his writings prove his perfect familiarity with each) 
but we mean that he is the best writer, taken all in all, of any 
in this country in the particular field of literature which he has 
chosen. There are doubtless many writers who excel him in some 
minor points — but, taken as a whole, his works are unrivalled on 
this side of the Atlantic. 

In all that he writes there seems to be an irresistible charm, 
holding the reader spell-bound from the beginning to the end. 
That this gift is natural and not acquired, we assume from reading 
some of his earlier productions. We well remember the eagerness 
with which “ Prairie Flower” was sought after and devoured upon 
its first appearance. Everybody read it — everybody talked about 
it — and, for a time, not to have seen “Prairie Flower,” was to 
acknowledge yourself guilty of unpardonable ignorance 

As a proof of the public appreciation of “Prairie Flower,” we 
have only to state that 91,000 copies of this work have already been 
sold, and that the Publishers now present a new and handsome 
edition, which has been carefully revised and corrected by the 
author himself. 


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PRAIRIE FLOWER: 

OR, 

Adventures in the Far West. 


BY/' 

EMERSON Bennett, 

AUTHOR OF 

“CLARA MORELAND,” “BORDER LILLY,” “OUTLAW’S DAUGHTER,” 
“A miser’s will,” “a midnight CRIME.” “ VILLETA LINDEN,” 
“PHANTOM OF THE FOREST,” “BROTHERHOOD OF DEATH,” 
“■.;ATE CLARENDON,” “BRIDE OF THE WILDERNESS,” 

“forest rose,” etc., etc., etc. 


“ By £eid, by flood, by fire, by air, 
j We found our perils everywhere.” 


A NEW EDITION. 

COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. 

Carefully Revised and Corrected by the Author. 

NINETY-SECOND THOUSAND. 



NEW YORK: \ ' '' 

G. W. Carletan Gf Co., Publishers. 

LONDON : S. LOW & CO. 

MDCCCL:;xxi. 



1 ) 




Entered accordirig to Act of Congress, in the yea- i88?, 
By EMERSON BENNETT, 

In'the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 
[all rights reserved.] 




Stereotyped by 
Samuel Stodder, 
Electrotypeu & Stebeotypeb, 
90 Ann street, N. Y. 


Trow 

Printing and Book-Bindino Co, 
N. Y. 


CONTENTS, 


PACB 

Introductory 9 

CHAPTER 

I. The Resolve il 

II. Love and Jealousy i6 

III. Providential Escapes 25 

IV. Incidents of the Journey 35 

V. The Prairie and the Trappers 45 

VI. The Old Trapper’s Tale. 55 

VII. A Ludicrous Mistake 68 

VIII. The Journey and Indian Sign 75 

IX. The Night Attack 85 

X. The Thunder-Storm 95 

XL Onward to Fort Laramie., loi 

XII. The Mysterious Equestrienne 109 

XIII. Preparing for Battle 116 

XIV. The Terrible Ambuscade 124 

XV. A Strange Awakening 129 

XVI. Another Interview with Prairie Flower 139 

XVII. Falling in Love 146 

XVIII. The Mysterious or Great Medicine Tribe 156 

XIX. Preparing to Resume our Journey 169 

XX. Final Parting with Prairie Flower 175 

XXI, Rendezvous of the Trappers 185 

XXII. A Perilous Journey 194 

XXIII. The Terrible Desert 202 

[vii] 


viii 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER 

XXIV. 

XXV. 

XXVI. 

XXVII. 

XXVIII. 

XXIX. 

XXX. 

XXXI. 
XXXII. 
XXXIII. 
XXXIV. 

XXXV. 

XXXVI. 

XXXVII. 

XXXVIII. 

XXXIX. 

XL. 

XLI. 

XLII. 

XLIII. 

XLIV. 

XLV. 

XLVI. 

XLVII. 

XLVIII. 

XLIX. 

L. 

LI. 

LII. 

LIII. 

LIV. 

LV. 

LVI. 


Another Long, Perilous Journey.. . . 

A Terrible Misfortune 

Wonderful Surprises 

Many Things 

Another Strange Discovery 

The End of a Long Journey 

Keeping My Secret 

Resolve to Seek My Friend 

The Sad Farewells 

Our Perils Begin 

A French and Irish Quarrel 

A Good Joke and a Dismal Night. . . 

The Old Trapper Again 

Trapping and a Stampede 

Camp Stories and the Attack 

A Desperate Fight with Indians 

Gain Tidings of My Friend.. 

The Joyful Meeting with My Friend. 

A Strange Surmise 

Illness and Death of Great Medicine, 

The Legacy of Prairie Flower 

A Joy ul Reunion 

They Meet at Last 

The Long Lost Found 

Mother and Daughter 

Unravelling a Mystery 

Planning for the Future 

Final Departure 

Farewell to the Mysterious Tribe 

The Prairie on Fire 

Painful Suspense, Gloom and Dread. 

Home at Last 

The Closing Scenes 


PACK 

209 

215 

222 

231 

236 

243 

250 

255 

262 

270 

279 

287 

295 

302 

311 

325 

333 

340 

353 

360 

369 

379 

388 

395 

400 

408 

420 

426 

430 

440 

448 

455 

461 


PRAIRIE FLOWER. 


INTRODUCTORY. 

S almost every one who takes any interest in a 
story, has some desire or curiosity to know 
how or why it came to be written, and as 
there are some things of which he desires to 
speak particularly, the author, compiler or 
editor of Prairie Flower (whichever you please, reader), 
has, after due consideration, decided on giving this in- 
formation in an introductory note. 

While engaged in writing for the press, a tall, dark- 
visaged, keen-eyed individual entered his sanctum early 
one morning, bearing in his hand a bundle of no infe- 
rior size. Having stared around the apartment, as if to 
assure himself there was no mistake, he coolly took the 
only remaining seat, when the following conversation 
ensued. 

Stranger. — I s’pose you’re an author ? 

Author. — That is my profession. 

Stranger. — He-e-m ! (A pause.) Write novels, I 
presume ? 

Author. — When I have nothing better to do. 

Stranger. — (After a little reflection.) Found them 
on facts, eh ? 

Author. — Sometimes, and sometimes draw rather 
freely on the imagination, as the case may be. 

Stranger.^ — How would you like the idea of writing 
one that should contain nothing but facts 7 

[9J 



10 


INTRODUCTORY. 


Author. — (Becoming interested, and laying down his 
pen.) I have no objection, provided there are facts 
enough, and of a nature sufficiently exciting to make the 
story interesting to the general reader. 

Stranger. — (Smiling complacently and tapping his 
bundle.) I’ve got the documents here, and no mistake. 
Every word true, I pledge you my honor. Promise to 
work them up faithfully, and they are at your service. 

Author. — (In doubt.) But how am I to know that 
they contain only facts ? 

Stranger. — You have my word, sir ! 

Author. — Did you write them ? Do they comprise 
a journal of your own adventures ? 

Stranger. — (A little testily.) No matter about 
either ! They contain nothing but facts, and that is 
enough for any reasonable man to know. 

Author. — I see — it is all right, of course. 

Stranger. — (Again smiling pleasantly.) So you 
will undertake the business, and give facts in everything 
but the most important names ? 

Author. — I will try. 

Stranger — (Placing the package upon the table and 
rising.) You can have them, then. All I ask is that you 
will be a faithful chronicler. The names I wish changed 
you will find marked. I have a desire to see the whole 
in print, and you may take all the profit and whatever 
credit you please, so you keep fact in view. The inci- 
dents are romantic, and sufficiently exciting for your 
purpose, without embellishment. I shall keep an eye 
upon the publication ; and you may see me again, or you 
may not — I make no promises. Good-morning, sir ! 

Author. — (Rising to bow him out.) But your name, 
stranger, if you please ? 

Stranger. — (Hesitating.) I am called the Wanderer. 
Good-morning, sir ! 

Author. — Good-morning, Mr. Wanderer ! (Returns 
to the mysterious package, opens, examines it, begins to 
read, gets interested, and goes to bed the night following 
at a very late hour.) 

Having shown you how he became possessed of the 
facts of the story, the author would say a few words 


THE RESOLVE, 


II 


more concerning the characters set forth in the follow- 
ing narration. Fie would state, that, being all some 
represent a class, and some an individual only. Prairie 
Flower is drawn from real life. That the proceedings of 
herself and tribe may appear mysterious, and, to some, 
at first thought (her locality and everything considered), 
out of place, the author does not d mbt ; but he believes 
that no one who is conversant with Indian history, and 
especially with that relating to the North-western tribes 
and the Moravian Missions during the early settlement 
of Ohio, will find in this character or her tribe anything 
overstrained or unnatural. That she is a marked char- 
acter, distinct and peculiar, and liable to be misconstrued 
by those who do not take everything into consideration, 
but allow a first fancy to have full sway — he admits ; but 
at the same time he would desire such to withhold an 
expression of opinion until they shall have read to the 
end, when he trusts they will find the explanation en- 
tirely clear and satisfactory. 

With the further simple statement that the scenes 
described may be looked upon as real^ the author would 
take his respectful leave for the present, hoping the 
reader may find, if nothing else of interest, information 
regarding life in the Far West sufficient to repay a 
perusal. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE RESOLVE. 

O ! for Oregon — what say you, Frank Leigh- 
ton?” exclaimed my college chum, Charles 
Huntly, rushing into my room nearly out 
of breath. “ Come, what say you, Frank ?” 
queried my companion again, as I looked 
up in some surprise. 

“Why, Charley,” returned I, “what new notion has 
taken possession of your brain ?” 



13 


THE RESOLVE. 


“ Oregon and adventure,” he quickly rejoined, with 
flashing eyes. “ You know, Frank, our collegiate course 
being finished, we must do something for the remainder 
of our lives. Now, for myself, I cannot bear the idea of 
settling down to the dry practice of law, without at least 
having seen something more of the world. You know, 
Frank, we have often planned together where we would 
go, and what we would do, when we should get our lib- 
erty ; and now the Western fever has seized me, and I 
am ready to exclaim — ho ! for Oregon.” 

“But, Charley,” returned I, “consider that we are 
now in Boston, and that Oregon is thousands of miles 
away. It is much easier saying, ho ! for Oregon, than it 
is getting to Oregon. Besides, what should we do when 
there ?” 

“ Hunt, fish, trap, shoot Indians, anything, every- 
thing,” cried my comrade, enthusiastically, “so we 
manage to escape ennui, and have plenty of adventure !” 

“ I must confess,” said I, “ that I like the idea won- 
derfully well — but — ” 

“ But me no buts !” exclaimed Huntly ; “you will 
like it — I shall like it — and we will both have such 
glorious times. College — law — pah ! I am heartily 
sick of hearing of either, and long for those magnificent 
wilds where a man may throw about his arms without 
fear of hitting his neighbor. So come, Frank, set about 
matters — settle up your affairs, if you have any, either 
in money or love — and then follow me. Faith, man, I’ll 
guide you to a real El Dorado, and no mistake.” 

The words of my companion produced a strong effect 
upon my naturally restless mind. Nothing that he could 
have proposed, at that moment, would have suited my 
inclination better than such a journey of adventure, and 
no companion would I have preferred to himself. We 
had been playmates together in infancy, we had studied 
together in youth, and we had been chums at old Harvard 
University. 

From childhood up, I had loved Charles Huntly — 
or Charley, as I more familiarly termed him — as a 
brother ; and this fraternal feeling I knew he as warmly 
returned. We walked together, played together, sung 


THE RESOLVE, 


13 


together — ever took each other’s part on all occasions, 
whether right or wrong— and, in fact, for our close in- 
timacy, were dubbed the Siamese Twins. We were both 
only sons of wealthy parents — I myself was an only 
child, in fact ; but he had a sister — a sweet, modest, affec- 
tionate creature, some three years his junior — whom I 
loved with all the ardent passion of a fiery, impetuous 
youth ; and was, I fancied, loved in return. Be this as 
it might, my passion for his sister he knew and encour- 
aged ; and this only added a stronger link to the chain 
of our friendship. 

In age, Charles Huntly was my senior by nearly a 
year, and was now a little turned of twenty-one. In 
stature we were much alike — both being about five feet 
ten inches in height, with regular proportions. In com- 
plexion we differed materially ; he being light, with 
light curly hair ; and I dark, with hair black and 
straight. In personal appearance my friend was remark- 
ably handsome and prepossessing. His beauty did not 
consist in the mere perfection of features — though these 
were, in general, very fine — so much as in the play and 
expression of the whole countenance, where every 
thought seemed to make an instant and passing impres- 
sion. His forehead was high and broad, and stamped 
with intellect, beneath which shone a bright, blue eye, 
that could sparkle with mirth, or flash with anger, as 
the case might be. The contour of his face was a some- 
thing between the Grecian and Anglo-Saxon, though 
the nose was decidedly of the former cast. His skin — 
fine, smooth and almost beardless — gave him an appear- 
ance so boyish that I was often mistaken for his senior 
by many years — a matter which generally irritated him 
not a little, as he had a strong repugnance to being 
thought effeminate. His temperament was strongly ner- 
vous. At heart he was truly noble and generous ; but 
this, by those who did not know, him intimately, was very 
frequently overlooked in his hot and hasty temper. No 
one was more ready to resent an insult, or redress a 
wrong ; and as he was very tenacious of his own honor, 
so was he of another’s. If you insulted him, you must take 
the consequences, and they would not be slow to follow, 


14 


THE RESOLVE. 


unless ample apology were made, in which case his hand 
was ever open for friendship. If he did you a wrong, 
and became convinced of it, he could not rest until he 
had sued for pardon. He was wild at times in his no- 
tions, headstrong, hot-brained^and, in general, a great 
enthusiast. Whenever anythi3|: new took possession of 
his mind, it was the great all-in-all for the time being ; 
but it was very apt to pass away soon, and be supplied 
by something equally as great and equally as evanes- 
cent. 

Such, as I have just enumerated, were the striking 
points in the appearance and character of Charles 
Huntly ; and though in the latter we were much alike, 
yet we seldom quarreled, and then only to become better 
friends the next time we met. 

Now as Charles remarked, in language which I have 
already quoted, we had often, during our leisure mo- 
ments, laid out plans of adventure for the future, when 
our collegiate course should be finished. But the plan 
of to-day had always been superseded by the one of 
to-morrow ; so that, unless we resolved on something 
steadily, it was more than probable that the whole would 
result, simply, in speculating visions of the brain. The 
last proposition was, of course, the one which opens this 
chapter ; and which had, perhaps, less weight with me 
at the moment, from my remembering the failure of all 
the others. Still, there was one thing in its favor which 
none of the others had had. We had completed our 
studies now, and were at liberty, if we resolved on it, to 
carry our project into immediate execution, before it 
should become trite ; and besides, nothing before had 
seemed so fully to meet the views of both in every par- 
ticular. Adventure was our delight, in every shape we 
could find it; as several powerful admonitions and pre- 
monitory warnings from our tutors, for various little 
peccadilloes, might well attest. But there was, notwith- 
standing, a drawback, which made me hesitate when my 
friend interrupted me. He was of age, but I was not ; 
and my father might not be willing to give his consent, 
without which I certainly would not venture. Another ; 
I loved Lilian Huntly; and should I go and leave her. 


THE RESOLVE. 


15 


she might get married in my absence — a result which I 
; felt was not to be endured. 

While I sat, with my head upon my hand, buried in 
thought, rapidly running these things over in my mind, 
my companion stood w^ching me, as if to gather my 
decision from the expresSRn of my countenance. 

“ Well, Frank,” said he, at length, “it seems you have 
become very studious all at once. How long is it going 
to take you to decide on accepting so glorious a propo- 
sition ?” 

' “ How long since the idea of it entered your head ?” 

I inquired. 

“Ten, fifteen, ay — (looking at his watch) — twenty 
minutes. I was down for the purpose of getting a 
' carriage, when the thought came across me like a flash 

of lightning, and 1 turned and hurried back, to ” 

' “ See me before you altered your mind,” interrupted 

I, completing his sentence. 

“Oh, bother! Wait till I have done. I hurried 
back, I say, to let you share the bright prospect with 
me. 

“ Humph I prospect indeed 1” said I, with a laugh, 
merely for the purpose of annoying him ; for I saw by 
his whole demeanor that he was decidedly in earnest. 
“ And a prospect it will ever remain, I’m thinking, a 
long way ahead. You are joking, Charley, are you not ?” 

“No, by all the bright Cupids of fairy realms, I 
swear to you, Frank, my dear fellow, I never was so 
serious about anything in my life, since the time when I 
played the ghostly tin-pan drum for the edification of 
old Aunt Nabby.” 

“ But, allowing you are in earnest, you have over- 
looked two important points in asking me to accompany 
you.” 

“ What are they ?” 

“ My father, and Lilian.” 

“Tut, tut, tut, Frank — don’t be a fool !” 

“ That is exactly what I am trying to guard against, 

• Charley.” 

“ Pshaw ! stuff ! nonsense ! — what have your father 
and my sister to do with it ?” 


i6 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY, 


‘‘ Why, the first might refuse his consent to my 
going ; and the last might consent to have my place 
filled in my absence.” 

‘‘Well,” answered Charley, “as for your father. I’ll 
pledge you my word that he will give his consent ; and 
for Lilian, that she will await your return, if it be six 
years hence.” 

“You will?” cried I, jumping up suddenly; “you 
will pledge your word to this, Charley?” 

“Yes, I will pledge you my honor to both, if you will 
say the word.” 

“Enough ! here is my hand on it !” I cried. 

The next moment my fingers felt the powerful pres- 
sure of those of my enthusiastic friend. 

“Now, Frank,” he almost shouted, capering about 
the room for joy, “you are pledged beyond a back-out.” 

“On condition you make your pledge good.” 

“ I will do it or die !” 

“ Then enough is said !” 

“ Hurrah, then, for some glorious adventures !” cried 
Charles Huntly, darting out of my room and down a 
flight of stairs, to the imminent danger of his neck : 
“ Hurrah for the Rocky Mountains, Oregon, and the far. 
Far West !” 


CHAPTER II. 

LOVE AND JEALOUSY.' 

T was a clear, starlight evening, in the month 
of May, that I found myself slowly nearing 
the fine mansion of Benjamin Huntly, to be- 
hold my sweet and dearly-loved Lilian, perhaps 
for the last time. I felt strangely, as I had 
never felt before. A week had elapsed, and all had been 
arranged for my departure at an early hour on the 
following morning. The consent of my parents had 
been reluctantly yielded to the powerful eloquence and 




LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


17 


soft persuasion of my enthusiastic friend. Already had 
my trunks been packed, and my purse filled for the long 
separation. Already had I listened to the paternal ad- 
vice of my father, and seen the tears of sorrow in my 
beloved mother’s eyes. The struggle of consent, but not 
of parting, was now over ; and I was wending my way 
to the house of my friend, to take leave of one, at the 
thought of whom my heart ever beat rapidly. As I said 
before, I felt strangely. I was about to bid adieu — a 
long, perchance a last, adieu — to all the bright scenes of 
my childhood — to friends near and dear to me — to father 
and mother — and last, though not least, to the idol of 
my purer thoughts. 

It is hard, very hard, to leave the scenes of our youth 
for the first time — to venture forth, we scarce know 
whither, like a feather borne unconsciously upon the 
strongest current of air. However much we may plan 
in secret — however strikingly we may draw the pictures 
of adventure in the rosy colors of anticipation — however 
great may be our inclination to go and see the world for 
ourselves ; yet when the time of separation comes — 
when we are about to cut the cord that binds us to all 
we have ever seen and loved — the heart grows sad, and 
soft, and we feel as if staggering under the weight of 
some impending calamity. 

Thus I felt, and a grea^ deal more which I cannot 
describe, as I paused for a moment upon the steps of 
Lilian Huntley’s dwelling, to compose my agitated 
nerves and appear calm and collected. Why was it 
that my agitation should now only increase ? Why could 
I never appear before her as before any other I had ever 
seen — cool and collected ? Why must my heart always 
flutter so, and my usually free-coming words stick 
chokingly in my throat, or congeal upon my lips ? Was 
it because I loved her ? I would have given half of my 
expected inheritance to have been able to talk to her 
freely, as I could to others. I had often tried it, but in 
vain. I always made a fool of myself, and I knew it. I 
fancied Lilian knew it too ; and this only added to my 
embarrassment. My heart and my self-esteem whispered 
me I was loved ; but my bashful fears told me the con- 


i8 


ZOVB AND JEALOUSY, 


trary. I had never tested her, and now I was about to 
do it. If she loved me, she would plainly show it at the 
moment of separation. I was shortly to be made happy 
or miserable — or miserably happy ; for if she loved me, 
I should be happy in knowing it — unhappy in the 
thought of a long parting. I trembled as I thought. 

At last, with a desperate effort, I assumed a courage 
I did not possess, and, ascending the steps, rang the bell. 
In another minute I was ushered into the parlor, and the 
servant who admitted me was gone to summon my fair 
judge. I gazed around upon the beautiful paintings 
which adorned the walls, but without seeing them. I 
felt like a guilty culprit about to hear his doom. Could 
money, at that moment, have purchased me easy assur- 
ance, I would have had it at any price. I remained in 
suspense some five minutes, when the door opened and 
Lilian entered — entered like a fairy being into her 
golden realms. 

IJeavens ! how lovely ! I had never seen her, or 
^pght else, look so enchantingly sweet before. In com- 
plexion and features, Lilian strongly resembled her 
brother — save that everything was more soft, more 
effeminate, more exquisitely beautiful. Her skin was 
fair, and clear as alabaster, with a slight tint of crimson 
upon each cheek. Her features were all of the finest 
mold. Her large, soft, clear blue eyes were rendered 
extremely fascinating by long, drooping, delicately- 
fringed lashes. In their depths was a soul of tender 
thought, feeling and love ; and, most joyful discovery ! 
they were now swimming in tears. She loved me, then, 
and had been weeping at the thought of my leaving her! 
The expression of her sweet countenance, too, was sad. 
Her plump, cherry lips were just parted, as if about to 
speak, displaying two rows of beautiful pearls. Her 
light hair was arranged a la mode^ and a bright, glowing 
diamond sparkled on her forehead. Her exquisitely 
faultless form was arrayed in the emblem of purity, a 
snow-white dress, which almost made me fancy her an 
ethereal, spiritual visitor. 

She advanced with a timid step, and held out her 
^npwy, dimpled hand. She tried to speak, but language 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY, 


19 


failed her. I tried to do the same, with a like success. 
I took a step toward her, and her hand touched mine. 
Heavens ! what emotions thrilled me ! I was beside 
myself with the deepest joy I had ever felt. I forgot 
formality, caution, prudence, everything — and, before I 
knew what I was about, or how I did it, my lips were 
pressed to hers. The pressure was returned, one mo- 
ment, and then she sprung away, blushing and confused. 
Think what you may of it, reader, that was one of the 
happiest moments of my life. 

I was the first to break the silence, and I trembled as 
I did so. 

“ I have come, Miss Lilian,” I stammered, to — 

to ” 

“ I understand,” she murmured, faintly, sinking into 
a seat ; while slowly the tears, that could not be sup- 
pressed, stole down her now pale cheeks ; “ I under- 
stand ; I am about to lose a — a — brother, and a — a — 
friend.” 

Friend! heavens! how cold that word! It should 
be clipped by every lexicographer and sent out of exist- 
ence ! Friend ! Why, it chilled my blood, and for the 
moment made me an enemy of the language which 
harbored it. Was there, then, no other term — one a little 
more endearing ? — and if so, why did she select one so 
cold ? Perhaps she meant it ! Perhaps her grief was 
only for the loss of a brother, and — if I must use the 
hateful term — a friend ! In that case she could not love 
me. I had once more made a fool of myself. But I 
would not do so again. I would let her see that I could 
be as indifferent as herself. She should not have cause 
to boast in after times — perhaps when wedded to another 
— how much I loved her, and how much she pitied me. 
No ! I would be as cold as marble — ay ! as a Lapland 
iceberg. 

These thoughts went through my mind rapidly ; and 
but a brief pause succeeded, before I said, coolly enough. 
Heaven knows : 

“ Yes, Miss Huntly, I have come to bid you a last fare- 
well, and have but a few spare moments to do it in.” 

I looked at her indifferently as I spoke, and oh I 


20 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


what would I not have given to recall those words ! Her 
soft, blue eyes turned full upon me, with a mingled ex- 
pression of surprise and reproach, which I shall never 
forget. Her cheeks grew more deadly pale than ever ; 
and her lips quivered, as she sighed, almost inaudibly, 
my name. There was no withstanding this ; and on the 
impulse of the moment, I threw myself at her feet, and 
exclaimed : 

“ Oh, Lilian ! sweet Lilian ! I have wronged you ! 
You love me, Lilian ! — you love me ! ” 

She did not answer, but her look spoke volumes, as 
her eyes modestly sought the ground, and a slight flush 
beautifully tinted her cheeks. I seized her hand raptu- 
rously, and pressed it warmly. She did not return the 
pressure, neither did she seek to avoid it. I was in 
raptures, and I felt a soul of eloquence on my lips. 

“I wronged you, Lilian!”! said passionately. “I 
thought you were cold-hearted, because you called me 
friend. But I was mistaken, I see 1 I was expecting a 
warmer term ; but I had forgotten it was not your place 
to, use it first. Lilian, dear Lilian — permit me so to call 
you — I am about to go far away ; and God only knows 
when, if ever, I shall return. Pardon me, then, if I im- 
prove the present moments, and speak the sentiments of 
my heart. I have known you, Lilian, from a child ; but 
I have known you only to love and adore. You have 
been the ideal of my boyish dreams, either sleeping or 
waking. The perfection of divine beauty with me has 
had but one standard — your own sweet, faultless face 
and form. Every happy thought of my existence has 
somehow had a connection with yourself. I could not 
picture happiness, without drawing you in glowing 
colors, the foremost and principal figure. I have thought 
of you by day, dreamed of you by night, for many years 
— have longed to be near you — have worshiped you in 
secret — and yet have never dared to tell you so till now. 
Whenever tempted to do wrong, your lovely face has 
been my Mentor, to chide and restrain me. I have loved 
you, Lilian — deeply, passionately, devotedly loved you, 
with the first, undefiled love of an ardent temperament — 
as I never can love another. I am about to leave, and 


LOFJS AND JEALO US Y. 


21 


I tell you this, and only ask if I am loved in return. 
Speak ! let your sweet lips confirm what your looks have 
spoken, and I shall be the happiest of human beings !” 

I ceased, and paused for an answer. 

While speaking, the head of the fair being, at whose 
feet I kneeled, had gradually, unconsciously as it were, 
sunk upon my shoulder, where it now reposed in all its 
loveliness. She raised her face, crimson with blushes and 
wet with tears. Her hand, still held in mine, trembled 
— and her lips, as she essayed to speak, trembled also. 

“Oh, Francis !” she at length articulated ; and then 
there came a silence. 

“ Say on, Lilian, and make me happy !“ 

“No, no!” she said quickly, looking hurriedly 
around her, as if fearful of the presence of another. 
“ No, no, Francis — not now — some other time.” 

“ But you forget, dear Lilian, that I am about to leave 
you — that there may never be a time like the present ! 
Only say you love me, fair one, and it is all I ask.” 

“ But — but — ” she stammered, and then paused. 

“ Ha ! then I have after all mistaken friendship for 
love ?” I returned, quickly, starting abruptly to my feet. 

Again her soft, reproachful eyes met mine, and every 
angry impulse vanished before their heavenly beams. 

“ You mistake me, Francis,” she said. “I — I — ” an- 
other pause. 

Again was I at her feet, ashamed of my hasty display 
of jealous temper. 

“The word is trembling upon your lips, Lilian,” I 
exclaimed ; “ speak it, and ” 

At this moment, to my astonishment and chagrin, 
the door suddenly opened, and an elegantly-dressed gen- 
tleman, some five or six years my senior, highly per- 
fumed, took one step over the threshold ; and then, 
perceiving me, he drew quickly back, evidently as much 
surprised and embarrassed as myself. Meantime, I had 
sprung to my feet, with a whirlpool of feelings in my 
breast, impossible to be described — the predominant of 
which were anger, mortification and jealousy. Lilian, 
too, had started up, and turned toward the stranger 
(stranger to me) with an embarrassed air. 


22 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


“ I crave pardon,” said the intruder, coloring, for 
my seeming rudeness in appearing thus unannounced ! 
I found the outer door ajar, and made bold to step in, 
without ringing, not thinking to meet with any here 
save the regular members of the family.” 

“ Then you must either be a constant visitor, or no 
gentleman, to take even that liberty !” I rejoined, in a 
sarcastic tone of some warmth. 

The face of the intruder became as scarlet at my 
words ; and his eyes flashed indignantly as he replied, 
in a sharp, pointed tone : 

“ I am a regular visitor here, sir ! hwlyour face is new 
to me.” 

Indeed !” I rejoined, with an expression of con- 
tempt, turning my eyes upon Lilian, as if for an expla- 
nation. 

She was trembling with embarrassment, and her fea- 
tures were alternately flushing and paling, like the rapid 
playings of an aurora borealis. She hastened to speak, 
to cover her confusion, and prevent, if possible, any fur- 
ther unpleasant remarks. 

“This — this^is Mr. Wharton, Francis,” she stam- 
mered ; “ a gentleman who calls here occasionally. Mr. 
Whar — Wharton, Mr. Leighton — an old friend of mine.” 

Of course the rules of good breeding required us to 
bow on being thus formally introduced to each other ; 
and this we did, but very stiffly, and with an air of secret 
hate and defiance. That moment we knew ourselves to 
be rivals, and consequently enemies ; for it was impos- 
sible there should be any love between us. As for my- 
self, I was powerfully excited, and indignant beyond the 
bounds of propriety. Hasty, passionate and jealous in 
my disposition, I was unfit to love any one ; for to me 


“ Trifles light as air, 

Were confirmations strong as proofs of Holy Writ,” 


in consequence of which I only loved, to be miserable, 
and render the object loved equally so. 

I exchanged no more words with Wharton ; but 


LOVJS AND JEALOUSY. 


23 


turning to Lilian, I said, with all the coolness my boil- 
ing blood would allow : 

“ So, then, the riddle is solved. Had you been frank 
enough to inform me that you expected particular com- 
pany to-night, I should certainly ere this have ridden you 
of my presence.” 

“ Oh, Francis !” cried Lilian, with an imploring, re- 
proachful look, from eyes moist with tears ; “ you are 
mistaken ! — indeed, indeed you are !” 

“Oh, yes, of course !” I replied, bitterly, as I coolly 
drew on my glove, and prepared to take my final leave. 
“Of course I am, or wasy mistaken ; but I shall not be 
likely to be again immediately, I presume. Farewell, 
Miss Huntly !” I continued, coldly, rudely extending to 
her my gloved hand ; “ I shall probably never see you 
again, as I leave at an early hour in the morning.” 

Oh, what a look she gave me at that moment, of 
sweet, heart-touching, mournful reproach — a look which 
haunted me for days, for weeks, for months, for years — 
a look which, were I an artist, would peradventure be 
found upon every face I painted. 

“ Francis !” she gasped, and sunk fainting and color- 
less upon a seat. 

This, in spite of my jealous feelings, touched me sen- 
sibly ; and I was on the point of springing to her aid, 
when Wharton passed me for the purpose. I could 
stand no more — the devil was in me — and, with a scarcely 
suppressed imprecation upon my lips, I rushed from the 
apartment. 

In the hall I met my friend Charles. 

“Ha, Frank,” he exclaimed, “you seem flurried! 
What has happened ?” 

“ Ask me no questions,” I replied, pointing with my 
finger to the apartment I had just quitted. “ Give my 
kind regards to your parents, and bid them farewell for 
me.” 

“But stay a moment !” 

“No! I must go ; ” and I seized my hat and made 
for the door. 

“ All ready for the start in the morning, I suppose, 
Frank?” 


24 


ZOF£ AND JEALOUSY. 


“ Ay, for to-night, if you choose !” I replied, as I 
hurried down the steps leading to the street. 

I paused a moment, as my feet touched the pave- 
ment ; and, as I did so, I heard the voice of Huntly 
summoning tlie servants to the aid of his sister. I 
waited to hear no more ; but darted away down the 
street, like a madman, scarcely knowing, and caring 
less, whither I went. 

Such was my parting with Lilian Huntly. 

At last I found my way home ; and softly stealing to 
my chamber, I threw myself upon the bed — but not to 
sleep. I slept none that night. My brain was like a 
heated furnace. I rolled to and fro in the greatest men- 
tal torture I had ever endured. 

Morn came at last, and with it Charles Huntly, all 
prepared for the journey. I ate a morsel, pointed out 
my trunks, sighed a farewell to my parents, jumped into 
the carriage, and was whirled away with great rapidity. 

Charles looked pale and sad, and was not loqua- 
cious. I wanted him to talk — to speak of Lilian — but he 
carefully avoided any allusion to her. I was dying to 
know how he had left her, but would not question him 
on the subject. I inquired how he had left the family, 
however, and he replied : 

“ Indifferently well.” 

‘‘Well,” sighed I to myself, “she loves another, so 
why should I care ? ” 

Half-past seven, and the rushing, rolling, rumbling 
cars were bearing us swiftly away. Fifteen minutes 
more, and the city of our nativity had faded from our 
view, perhaps forever. 

We were speeding onward — thirty miles per hour — 
westward, ho ! for Oregon. 


PROVIDENTIAL ESCAPES. 


25 


CHAPTER III. 


PROVIDENTIAL ESCAPES. 



TEAMBOATS and railroads ! what mighty in- 
ventions ! With what startling velocity do 
they hurry us along, until even the over- 
charged mind almost feels it lacks the power 
to keep pace with their progress. Whoever has 
passed over the Boston and Providence route to New 
York will understand me. One mile-post succeeds 
another with a rapidity almost incredible ; and ere he, 
who travels it for the first time, is aware that half the dis- 
tance is completed, he finds himself in view of the capi- 
tal of old Rhode Island. 

So it was with myself. I had never been from home, 
and knew little of the speed with which the adventurer 
is carried across this mighty continent. I had heard men 
speak of it, it is true ; but I had never realized it till 
now. Perhaps I was longer on the road than I imagined. 
When the heart is full, we take but little note of external 
objects, or the flight of time — time, which is bearing us 
on to the great ocean of eternity. My mind was op- 
pressed and busy. I was thinking of home — of fond 
parents I had left behind — and of all the joys of childhood, 
which I could never witness again. A thousand things, 
a thousand scenes, which I had never thought of before, 
now crowded my brain with a vividness that startled me. 
They were gone now — forever gone ! I had bid them a 
last adieu. With one bold leap I had thrown off youth 
and become a man — a man to think and act for myself. 
My collegiate days, too, were over — days which memory 
now recalled with sad and painful feelings. 

True, my playmate, my fellow-student, my chum, my 
friend, was by my side. But he, too, was sad and 
thoughtful. He, too, was thinking of home and friends, 
the domestic, happy fireside, and all that he had left 
behind. His wonted gayety, his great flow of spirits, 
2 




PROVIDENTIAL ESCAPES, 


his enthusiasm, were gone ; and he was silent now — 
dumb as a carved image in marble. 

I gazed upon him, and my thoughts grew heavier, 
sadder. He was now so like Lilian — sweet, loved, but 
ah ! discarded Lilian ! How could I avoid thinking of 
her, when I gazed upon the pale, sad features of her only 
brother ! I did think of her ; of how I had left her ; and 
now that miles were gaining between us, I bitterly ac- 
cused myself of injustice. Why did I leave her so 
abruptly and in such a condition ? My heart smote me. 
I had wronged her — wronged her at the moment of part- 
ing, and put reparation out of my power. Why had I 
done so ? Why did I not part with her as a friend ? If 
she did not love me, it was not her fault, and I had no 
right to abuse her. I had acted hastily, imprudently, 
unjustly. I knew it — I felt it — felt it keenly ; and, oh ! 
what would I have not sacrificed for one, even one, 
moment with her, to sue for pardon ! Alas ! alas ! my 
reflections on my conduct liad come too late — too 
late ! 

Thus I thought, and thus I felt, while time and prog- 
ress were alike unnoted, uncared for. What cared I 
now for time? what cared I now for speed? My mind 
was a hell of torture almost beyond endurance, and I 
onl]’- sought to escape from myself, but sought in 
vain. 

“ Passengers for the steamboat,” were the first sounds 
that aroused me from a painful reverie. 

I looked up with a start, and lo ! I was in the heart 
of the city, and hundreds were around me. The cars 
had ceased their motion, and one destination was gained. 
At first I could not credit my senses. There must be 
some mistake— we were in the wrong city ! But I was 
soon convinced of my error ; and found, alas ! that all 
was too truly, too coldly, correct ; for on the impulse of 
the moment, I had counted on a return to my native soil, 
and — and — I will not say what else. 

I roused up my friend — who also looked wonder- 
ingly about him, as if suddenly awakened from a dream, 
and heaved a long, deep sigh — a dirge to buried scenes 
and friends away. Mechanically we entered a carriage. 


PROVIDENTIAL ESCAPES. 


27 


were hurried to the boat, and soon were gliding over the 
deep blue waters of Long Island Sound. 

Early the next morning I beheld, for the first time, 
the lofty spires of that great Babylon of America, ycleped 
New York. What a place of business, bustle and con- 
fusion ! What hurrying to and fro ! What rushing, 
scrambling, crowding, each bent on his own selfish end, 
and caring nothing for his neighbor, but all for his 
neighbor’s purse ! How cold the faces of the citizens 
seem to a stranger ! There are no welcome smiles — no 
kind greetings — all are wrapped up in their own pur- 
suits ; and he feels at once, although surrounded by 
thousands, that he is now indeed alone, without a friend, 
save such as can be bought. 

On the ocean, on the prairie, or in the forest, man is 
not alone ; he does not feel alone ; for he is with Nature 
in all her wildness — in all her beauty ; and she ever has 
a voice, which reaches his inner heart, and, in sweet com- 
panionship, whispers him to behold her wonders, and, 
through her, look up to the Author of all — her God and 
his ! But in the great city it is different — vastly differ- 
ent. Here all is artificial, studied and cold ; and as we 
gaze upon the thousands that throng the streets, and 
mark the selfish expressions on the faces of each, we feel 
an inward loathing, a disgust for mankind, and long to 
steal away to some quiet spot and commune with our 
own thoughts in silence. 

Such were my reflections, as the rumbling vehicle 
whirled me over the pavements to that then prince of 
hotels (in name and wealth at least), the Astor House. 
True, I had been born and brought up in a city ; but 
still these matters had never before forced themselves so 
strongly upon my mind as now. I was a stranger in a 
strange city, and, with my otherwise misanthropic feel- 
ings, I doubly felt them in all their force. 

The window of the apartment assigned to me at the 
Astor House looked out upon that world-renowned 
thoroughfare, Broadway. Dinner over, I seated myself 
at the casement and gazed forth. What a world in min- 
iature was spread before my eyes ! What a whirlpool of 
confusion and excitement ! Before me, a little tQ my 


28 


PROVIDENTIAL ESCAPES. 


left, was the park — its trees beautifully decorated with 
the flowers and leaves of spring, and its many winding 
walks thronged with human beings. From out its center 
rose the City Hall— the hall of justice. Along one side 
ran Broadway — along the other. Park Row — both 
crowded with carriages of all descriptions, from the 
splendid vehicle of fashion, with its serv^a^its in livery, 
and its silver-trimmed harness, down to the common dray 
— crowded with footmen, from the prince to the beggar — 
all hurrying and jostling together. Here sauntered the 
lady and gentleman of fashion, robed in the most costly 
apparel money could procure, bedecked with diamonds 
and gold, sapphire and ruby ; there, side by side, on the 
same pavement, almost touching them, strolled the poor, 
forlorn, pale-faced, hollow-eyed mendicant, partially 
clothed in filthy rags, and perhaps actually dying for a 
morsel of food. Great Heaven ! what a comment on 
humanity ! 

I have mentioned only the extremes ; but fancy both 
sexes — of all grades, sizes and nations between — and 
you have a picture which no city on the American con- 
tinent save New York can present. 

The evening found my friend and myself at the Na- 
tional Theater — then new, splendidly decorated, and in 
successful operation. It was crowded almost to suffoca- 
tion with the e/iU of the city. Rounded arms, splendid 
busts, flashing jewels, glowing cheeks and sparkling 
eyes, were displayed on every hand in a bewitching 
light. 

But of these I took little note. My attention was 
fixed upon the play. It was that impassioned creation 
of Shakespeare — Romeo and Juliet. My mind was just 
in a condition to feel the burning words of the lovers in ^ 
all their force ; and I concentrated my whole soul upon 
it, listened to every word, and watched every motion, to j 
the exclusion of everything else. i 

The first and second acts were over, and the last I 
scene of the third, the parting between the lovers, was | 
on the stage. A breathless silence reigned around. 
Every eye was fixed upon the players — every head in- i 
dined a little fqrward, tq cq.tch the slightest tones of the 


jPJ^OF/D£JVT/AL escapes. 


29 


speakers. Already had the ardent and unfortunate 
Romeo sighed forth the tender words, 


" Farewell ! I will omit no opportunity 
That may convey my greetings, love, to thee 

and the answer of Juliet, 

“ Oh think’st thou we shall ever meet again ?” 

was even trembling on her lips — when, suddenly, to the 
consternation and horror of all, there arose the terrific 
cry of, 

“Fire ! fire ! — the theater is on fire !“ 

Heavens ! what a scene ensued — and what feelings 
came over me ! Never shall I forget either. In a mo- 
ment all was frightful confusion, as each sought to gain 
the street. Startling shrieks, appalling yells, and hide- 
ous groans, resounded on all sides. Hundreds, I might 
say thousands, rushed pell-mell to the doors, to escape 
the devouring element, which, already lapping the com- 
bustible scenery, was seen shooting upward its lurid 
tongues, and heard hissing, snapping and crackling, in 
its rapid progress over the devoted building. 

I grasped the arm of my friend, crying, “Rush, 
Charley, for your life !’' and sprung forward myself. 

The next moment I felt myself seized from behind, 
and the voice of my friend shouted in my ear : 

“ Hold ! Frank — we must save her !” 

“ Whom r 

“Yonder! See! they have crowded her back ! — and 
now — great God ! she has fallen over into the pit !” 

I looked in the direction indicated by the finger of 
Huntly, and beheld a beautiful female, vainly struggling 
to reach the door. As he spoke, a sudden rush forward 
crowded her back to the railing which divided her from 
the excited mass of beings in the pit. One moment she 
balanced on the railing, and the next, with a cry of 
horror, fell upon the heads of those below. At any 
other time she would have been cared for; but now all 
were wild with terror, and thought (tfhly of themselves ; 


30 


PROVIDENTIAL ESCAPES. 


and instead of seeking to aid, they allowed her to sink 
under their feet. Save my friend and I, no one seemed 
to heed her. With a cry of horror, I leaped forward to 
rescue her from a horrible death. But my friend was 
already before me. One bound, and Charles Huntly was 
among the wedged and shrieking mass below, exerting 
all his strength to reach the prostrate form of the lady, 
who was now being trod to death under the feet of the 
frantic multitude. I would have sprung over the railing 
myself, but I saw it would be useless ; one was better 
than two ; and I paused and watched the progress of my 
friend with an anxiety better imagined than described. 

So dense was the mass, so closely wedged, that for 
a time all the efforts of Huntly to reach the unfortunate 
creature were vain ; while the glaring light, and the 
roar of the flames, as they eagerly leaped forward to the 
dome overhead, rendered the scene truly dismal and 
awful. 

At length the crowd grew thinner, as it poured through 
the open doorway, and, renewing his exertions, my 
friend shortly gained the side of the unknown. He 
stooped down to raise her, and I trembled for his safety, 
for I saw numbers fairly pressing upon him. With a 
Herculean effort, that must have exhausted all his phy- 
sical powers, I beheld him rise to his feet, with the fair 
unknown seemingly lifeless in his arms. I uttered aery 
of joy, as he staggered toward me with his burden. 

Quick ! quick ! this way — give her here !” I shouted, 
bending over the railing and extending my arms toward 
her. 

Huntly staggered forward, and the next moment my 
grasp was upon her, and she was in ray arms. 

“Fly! Frank — fast — for God’s sake I and give her 
air !” gasped Huntly, in a faint, exhausted tone. 

I cast one glance at her pale, lovely features, on 
which were bruises and spots of blood, and then clam- 
bered over the seats to the door, bidding my friend fol- 
low, but looking not behind. 

The boxes were now empty, and the doors but slightly 
blocked, so that I had little difficulty, to use a stage ex- 
pression, in making my exit. The street, however, was 


PROVIDENTIAL ESCAPES. 


31 


crowded with those just escaped, and others attracted 
hither by the alarm of fire. All was excitement and 
dismay. 

I pushed my way through the crowd as best I could, 
with my lovely burden in my arms, and at length reached 
the opposite sidewalk, where I paused to rest, and, if 
possible, restore the fair one to consciousness. As I be- 
gan chafing her temples, I heard a female voice shriek, 
in agonizing tones : 

“ Good God ! will no one save my child — my only 
child — my daughter — the idol of my heart !” 

I glanced around me, and beheld, by the light of the 
burning building, a middle-aged lady, richly clad, only 
a few paces distant, violently wringing her hands, in 
mental agony, and looking imploringly, now at the al- 
ready trembling structure, and then into the faces of the 
bystanders, as if in search of an answer to her heart- 
rending appeal. 

“ Oh, God ! oh, God ! save her ! save her ! — she must 
not, shall not, die ! I will give thousands for her life !” 

A thought struck me. Perhaps she was the mother 
of the senseless being I held ; and instantly I raised her 
in my arms and hurried forward. 

“ Is this your daughter, lady ?” I cried, as I drew near 
her. 

She looked wildly about her — one painful glance — 
and then, with a shriek, sprung forward, threw her arms 
around the fair creature’s neck, and burst into tears. 

“My God ! I thank Thee !” were the first articulate 
words from her now quivering lips. “I have got my 
daughter again !” and snatching her from my arms, she 
pressed kiss after kiss upon her lips, with all the wild, 
passionate fondness of a mother. “ Ha ! is she dead ?” 
she cried, with a look of horror, appealing to me. 

“Only fainted,” was my reply, made at a venture, for 
I dared not confirm my own fears. 

“ Yes ! yes I God be praised ! — I see ! I see ! She is 
returning to consciousness. But this blood?— these 
bruises ?” 

“ A slight fall,” I answered. 

“ And you, sir — ^you ? — I promised thousands to him 


32 


PROVIDENTIAL ESCAPES. 


who should save her ! Here is a part, and my card. 

Call to-night, or to-morrow, at (I failed to catch 

the address), and the remainder shall be yours." 

“ I did not save her for money ; in fact, I did not save 
her at all — it was my friend," I replied, taking from her 
extended hand the card, but refusing the purse which it 
also contained. 

“ And where is your friend ?" she asked, breathlessly. 

Heavens ! what a shock her words produced ! Where 
was my friend, indeed ! I looked hurriedly around, 
among the swaying multitude, but saw nothing of 
Charles Huntly. A terrible tliought seized me. Per- 
haps he had not made his escape ! I cast one glance at 
the burning pile, and, to my consternation, beheld the 
flames already bursting from the roof. Had he escaped ? 
— and if not — if 7iot ! — great God, what a thought ! I 
waited to say, to hear, no more ; but turned and rushed 
into the swaying mass, shouting the name of my school- 
mate. No answer was returned. I shouted louder — but 
still heard not his well-known voice. Great God ! what 
feelings came over me ! pen cannot describe them. On- 
ward, onward, still I pressed onward, and shouted at 
every step — but, alas ! no answer. 

At length I reached the door of the theater leading to 
the boxes. It was filled with smoke, pressing outward, 
through which I could catch glimpses of the devouring 
flames, and hear their awful roar. One pause — an in- 
stant only — and with his name upon my lips I darted 
into the shaking building. 

I gained the boxes, and found the heat of the flames 
almost unbearable. They had already reached the rail- 
ing nearest the stage, and overhead had eaten through the 
roof, from which burning cinders were dropping upon 
the blazing benches in the pit. The smoke was stifling, 
and I could scarcely breathe. I looked down, where" I 
had last seen my friend, and beheld a dark object on the 
floor. I called Huntly by name, in a voice of agony. 
Methought the object stirred, and I fancied I heard a 
groan. The next moment I was in the pit, bending over 
the object. Gracious God ! it was Huntly ! For some 
cause he had not been able to escape. 


PROVIDENTIAL ESCAPES. 


33 


Instantly I raised him in my arms, and, with a tre- 
mendous effort, threw him into the boxes. I attempted 
to follow, but failed. The smoke was proving too much 
for me, and the heat becoming intense. Again I tried, 
with like success. I began to feel dizzy, and faint, and 
thought I was perishing. I sunk back and looked up at 
the roof. I could see it trembling. A few moments, 
and it would be upon me. God of Heaven ! what a 
death ! 

At this moment of despair I felt a current of air 
rushing in upon me. It revived me, and I made a third 
attempt to clamber into the boxes. Joy ! joy ! I suc- 
ceeded. I caught hold of Charles, and, with my re- 
maining strength, dragged him to the door, and into the 
open air. Some five or six persons now rushed to my 
assistance, and in another moment I had gained the op- 
posite side of the street. As I did so, I heard a thunder- 
ing noise behind me. I turned quickly round, and no 
pen can describe my feelings when I understood the 
cause. The roof of the building had fallen in, and bright 
sheets of flame, and burning cinders, were shooting up- 
ward to the dark pall of the arching heavens. I had just 
escaped with my life ; and if ever I uttered a prayer of 
sincere gratitude to the Author of my being, it was then. 

As I stood gazing upon the remainder of the struct- 
ure, I saw the walls totter ; and ere I had time to move 
from the spot, the front wall crushed down, with a thun- 
dering sound, and lay a pile of smoking ruins — a part 
falling inward and a part outward. The heat was now 
excessive ; and as I sought to bear my unconscious 
friend further from the fire, the side walls plunged in- 
ward, leaving only the back wall standing. This now 
seemed to waver — totter — and then, great Fleaven ! it 
fell outward upon an adjoining building, crushing in the 
roof, and, as I afterwards learned, killing one of its in- 
mates almost instantly. 

By this time Huntly had begun to revive, and in a few 
minutes he was comparatively restored — the smoke and 
his exertions only having overcome him. He stared 
around him for a moment in wonder,, and then seemed 
2 * 


34 


PROVIDENTIAL ESCAPES. 


to comprehend all. Grasping my hand, with a nervous 
pressure, he exclaimed : 

“Thank God ! we are all saved; though I thought 
all was over with me. I see, dear Frank, I owe all to 
you. But the lady, Frank ?” 

“ I left her safe in the arms of her mother.” 

“Thank God again for that ! But who is she ? and 
where does she live?” And I felt the grasp of Charles 
tighten upon my arm. 

“ I do not know — but I have her mother’s card here.” 

“ Quick ! quick ! give it to me !” cried Huntly, with 
an impatience that surprised me. 

But I was mistaken ; I had not the card ; it was lost ; 
and, with it, all clue to the persons in question. With 
an expression of deep and painful disappointment my 
friend turned away. 

“ But we may yet find them,” I said ; “ they were 
here a few minutes since.” 

“ Where, Frank ? where ?” 

“Yonder;” and I hastened to the spot where I had 
left them ; but to the disappointment of myself, as well 
as Huntly, they were gone. 

I made inquiries of all around ; but nobody had seen 
or knew anything of them. 

“Always my luck, Frank,” said my friend, with a 
sigh ; and, jumping into a hack, we were shortly set 
down at the steps of the Astor. 

That night I dreamed of fire — of rescuing Lilian 
Huntly from the flames. 

Early the next morning we were once more upon our 
long ■ journey — swiftly speeding toward the far, Far 
West. 


INCIDENTS OF THE yOURNEY, 35 


CHAPTER IV. 

INCIDENTS OF THE JOURNEY. 

T was a calm, beautiful day that found myself 
and friend on the hurricane deck of a mag- 
nificent steamer, gliding swiftly down the 
calm, silvery waters of that winding, lovely 
and romantic stream, the Ohio, or J.a Belle 
Riviere. We had passed through Philadelphia, Baltimore 
and Pittsburg, without stopping, and were now speeding 
over the waters of this river on our journey to the Far 
West. Never had I seen a stream before so fascinating 
in all its attractions. On my right was the State of Ohio 
— on my left, those of Virginia and Kentucky ; and, on 
either hand, beautiful villages, farms and pleasure 
grounds, with tree, blade and flower in the delightful 
bloom of a pleasant spring. Here was a hill clothed 
with trees, reaching even to, overhanging and mirroring 
its green form in the glassy tide ; there a smiling plain, 
stretching gracefully away from the river’s bank, teem-, 
ing with the growing products of the husbandman ; 
while yonder a thriving village, a green and flowery 
lawn, or a pleasant farmhouse, rendered the whole scene 
picturesque and lovely beyond description. 

The longer I gazed, the more I felt my spirits revive, 
until I began to resume something of the joyousness of 
by-gone days. A similar effect I could perceive was be- 
ginning to tell upon my friend; The first keen pang of 
leaving home was becoming deadened. We were now 
in a part of tiie world abounding with everything de- 
lightful, and felt that our adventures had really begun. 
We thought of home and friends occasionally, it is true ; 
but then it was only occasionally ; and, mingling with 
our feelings, were thoughts of the present and glorious 
anticipations for the future. We were strong, in the 
very prime of life, and bound on a journey of adventure, 
where everything, being entirely new, was calculated to 



36 INCIDENTS OF THE JOURNEY. 


withdraw our minds from the scenes we had bid adieu. 
The future is always bright to the imagination of the 
young and inexperienced ; and we looked forward with 
delight to scenes on and beyond the broad and mighty 
prairies of the seemingly boundless West. 

“Well, Frank,” said Huntly, at length, with some- 
thing of his former light-hearted air, “what think you of 
this ?” 

“ It is superlatively beautiful !” I exclaimed, with en- 
thusiasm. 

“ I agree with you there, Frank,” he replied; “but 
then this will all sink into insignificance when we come 
to behold what lies beyond the bounds of civilization. 
Oh, I am in raptures with my journey ! What a beauti- 
ful land is this West ! I do not wonder that emigra- 
tion sets hitherward, for it seems to be the Paradise of 
earth.” 

“Ay, it does indeed.” 

“ But I say, Frank, there is one thing we have over- 
looked.” 

“Well, Charley, what is it?” 

“ Why, we must engage a servant to look after our 
baggage; and so let us employ one with whom we can 
have a little sport. I am dying for a hearty laugh.” 

“ But that may not be so easy to do,” said I. 

“ Pshaw ! don’t you believe a word of it. Now I 
have been standing here for the last ten minutes, laying 
my plans, and if you have no objection I will try and put 
them in operation.” 

“None at all,” I returned; “but let me hear them 
first.” 

“Do you see that fellow yonder, Frank?” pointing 
to a rather green-looking specimen of the Emerald Isle. 

“ I do. Well ?” 

“Well, I am going to try him ; so come along and 
see the result ;” and with this Huntly strode to the stern 
of the boat, where the son of Erin was standing, with 
his arms crossed on his back, gazing around him with 
an air of wondering curiosity. 

He was a good specimen of an Irishman, and bore all 
the marks of fresh importation. His coat was a wool- 


INCIDENTS OF THE JOURNEY. 37 


mixed gray, with bright, metal buttons, and very short 
skirts. His trousers were made of a greenish fustian, 
the upper portion of which barely united with a reddish- 
brown vest. Heavy brogans encased his feet ; and a 
hat, with a rim of an inch in width, ail the worse for 
wear, beneath which his sandy hair came low upon his 
brow, covered his head. A large mouth, pug nose, 
ruddy cheeks, and bright, cunning, gray eyes, denoted 
courage, wit and humor ; and, being a strong, hearty 
fellow, he was just the one to suit us. 

“ Well, Pat, a handsome country this !” said Huntly, 
in a familiar tone, as he came up to him. 

“ Troth, now, ye may well say that same, your Iionor, 
barring the name of Pat, which isn’t mine at all, at all, 
but simply Teddy O’Lagherty jist,” replied the Hiber- 
nian, with great volubility, in the real, rolling Irish 
brogue, touching his hat respectfully. 

“Beg your pardon, Teddy! — though I suppose it 
makes little difference to you what name you get ?“ 

“ Difference, is it, ye’re spaking of ? To the divil 
wid ye now, for taking me for a spalpeen ! D’ye be 
afther thinking, now, I don’t want the name that me 
mother’s grandfather, that was a relation to her, barring 
that he w’asn’t her grandfather at all, but only her daddy, 
give me ?” 

“ Oh, well then, never mind — I will call you Teddy,” 
said Charles, laughing, and winking at me. “ But I say, 
Teddy, where are you bound ?” 

“Bound, is it, ye’re axing? Och ! I’m not bound at 
all, at all — but frae as the biped of a chap ye calls a toad !” 

“ ‘ A fellow of infinite jest ; I like him much,’ ” said 
Huntly to me, aside, with a smile. “ I must secure him 
— eh, Frank ?” 

“ Certainly, by all means,” I replied, in the same 
manner ; “ ‘ for his like we ne’er may see again.’ ” 

“ But if you are not bound, Teddy,” continued Huntly, 
addressing the Irishman, “ pray tell me whither you are 
going?” 

“ Faith, now, ye’ve jist axed a question which mesilf 
has put to Teddy O’Lagherty more’n fifty times, widout 
gitting a single straight answer.” 


38 INCIDENTS OF THE JOURNEY. 


“ Then I suppose you are, like us, on a journey of 
adventure ?” 

“ It’s like I maybe, for divil of a thing else me knows 
about it.” 

“Would you like to get employment ?” 

“Would a pig like to ate his suppher?” answered 
Teddy, promptly. 

“ How would you like to engage with us now?” 

“ Troth, I’ve done many a worse thing, I’m thinking, 
your honor.” 

“No doubt of it, Teddy.” 

“But what d’yees want of me, your honor — and 
where to go ? — for I’m liking travel, if it’s all the same 
to yees.” 

“So much the better, for we are bound on a long 
journey ; ” and Charles proceeded to explain our inten- 
tions, and in what capacity the other would be wanted. 

“Och!” cried Teddy, jumping up and cracking his 
heels with delight, to our great amusement ; “it’s that 
same I’d be afther saaking if ye’d a axed me what T 
wanted.” 

“ Think you can shoot Indians, eh ! Teddy ?” 

“ Shoot, is it? Faith, I can shoot anything that flies 
on two legs. Although I says it mesilf, what shouldn’t, 
but let me mother for me. I’m the greatest shooter yees 
iver knew, I is.” 

“ Indeed ! I’m glad to hear it, Teddy, for I presume 
we shall have plenty of shooting to do. But what did 
you ever kill, Teddy ?” 

“ Kill, is it ! Troth, now, ye’re afther heading me 
wid your cunning.” 

“Well, then, what did you shoot?” 

“ A two-legged bir-r-d, your honor.” 

“Well, you killed it, of course?” 

“ Killed it ! Agh ! now ye’re talking. Faith, it 
wouldn’t die. I shot it as plain as daylight, right for- 
nenst the back-bone of its spine ; and, would ye belave 
it, divil of a shot touched it, at all, at all — the ugly baast 
that it was.” 

“ Well, well, Teddy, I think you will do,” said Huntly, 


INCIDENTS OF THE JOURNEY. 39 


laughing ; and forthwith he proceeded to close the bar- 
gain with the Irishman. 

Our trip proved very delightful, and in due time we 
arrived at Cincinnati, where it was our design to spend 
a« least a day. 

It was a beautiful morning when we rounded the first 
bend above the city and beheld the spires of this great 
w'estern mart glittering in the sunbeams. The levee we 
found lined with boats and crowded with drays, hacks 
and merchandise, and everything bespoke the life and 
briskness of immense trade. 

Taking rooms at the Broadway Hotel, we sauntered 
forth to view the city, and evening found us well pleased 
with our day’s ramble. 

It was about eleven o’clock on the night succeeding 
our arrival, that, having returned from a concert, we 
were preparing to retire to rest, when the alarm of fire, 
accompanied by a bright light, which shone in at our 
windows, attracted our attention. 

“ Ha ! here is another adventure, Charley !” I ex- 
claimed, replacing my coat, which I was in the act of tak • 
ing from my shoulders. “ Come, once more forth, and 
let us see what we can discover that is new and startling 
— for to-morrow, you know, we leave.” 

“Not to-night, Frank,” answered Huntly, yawning 
and rubbing his eyes. “I’-faith, man. I’ve seen enough 
of fire to last me for a long time ; and oh, (yawning 
again) I’m so sleepy !” 

“ Then I will go alone.” 

“ Well, go ; for myself. I’ll to bed and dream about 
it. But I say, Frank,” pursued Huntly, as I was on the 
point of quitting the room, “ have you secured your pistols 
about you ?” 

“No.” 

“You had better.” 

“ Pshaw ! I do not want them : I am not going to 
fight.” 

“ Nevertheless you h^d better go armed, in a strange 
place like this.” 

“Nonsense !” I replied, closing the door and hurry- 
ing down to the street. 


40 INCIDENTS OF THE JOURNEY, 


A thought struck me, that I would take Teddy 
along ; but, upon second consideration, I resolved to go 
alone. 

There was but little difficulty in finding the fire ; for 
a bright flame, shooting upward to the dark canopy 
above, guided me to it. Passing up Broadway to Sixth 
street, I turned down some four or five blocks, and dis- 
covered the fire to be issuing from an old, two-story, 
wooden building, which had been tenanted by two or 
three families of the poorer class. 

At the moment when I arrived, four engines were in 
active play, and some two or three others were prepar- 
ing to join them. The water was not thrown upon the 
burning building — for that was already too far gone — 
but upon one or two others that nearly joined, which 
were smoking from the heat. Many household articles 
had been thrown into the street, and these were sur- 
rounded by the fire-watch ; while an Irishman and his 
wife, with a daughter of sixteen, were running to and 
fro, and lamenting in piteous tones the loss of their home 
and property. 

“ Och, honey, don’t be despairing now !” said a voice, 
which I fancied I recognized; and turning toward the 
speaker, to my astonishment I beheld Teddy in the laud- 
able act of consoling the afflicted damsel. 

“Teddy !” I shouted. 

“ Here, your honor,” returned the Hibernian, look- 
ing around in surprise, and then advancing to me with 
an abashed air. 

“ What are you doing here, Teddy ?” I continued. 
“I thought you were at the hotel, sound asleep.” 

“ Faith ! and it’s like I thought the same of your 
honor, barring the slaap,” rejoined the Irishman, scratch- 
ing his head. “I saan the fire, your honor, and I 
thought as maybe there’d be some famales that ’ud naad 
consoling ; and so, ye see, I gathered mesilf hitherward 
as fast as me trotters would let me.” 

“ And so you make it your business to console fe- 
males, eh?” I asked, with a smile, which I could not re- 
press. 

“ Faith, now,” answered Teddy, if it’s all the same 


INCIDENTS OF THE JOURNEY, 


41 


to yoursilf, your honor, I’m a famale man, barring the 
dress they wears.” 

“ Weil, well,” said I, laughing outright, in spite of 
myself, “ go on with your good work — but mind you are 
at your post betimes in the morning, or you will be left 
behind.” 

“ It’s mesilf that’ll not forgit that same,” answered 
the other, as he turned away to rejoin the party in distress. 

At this moment I felt myself rudely jostled from be- 
hind, and, turning quickly round, found myself hemmed 
in by a crowd, in which two men were lighting. 

I endeavored to escape, and, in doing so, accidentally 
trod on the foot of a stranger, who turned furiously upon 
me, with : 

“ What in blazes do you mean ?” 

“ An accident,” said I, apologetically. 

“You’re a liar I” he rejoined; “ you did it a purpose.” 

I never was remarkable for prudence at any time, or 
I should have been more cautious on the present occas- 
ion. But the insulting words of the stranger made my 
young blood boil until I felt its heat in my face. With- 
out regard to consequences, and ere the words had fairly 
escaped his lips, I struck him so powerful a blow in the 
face that he fell back upon the ground. 

“ Another fight !” cried a dozen voices at once : 
“ Another fight ! hurrah !” 

In a moment I regretted what I had done, but it was 
too late. I would have escaped, but the crowd had now 
formed around me so densely that escape was impossi- 
ble. Besides, my antagonist, regaining his feet, his face 
covered with blood, was now advancing upon me furi- 
ously. There was no alternative ; and watching my op- 
portunity, as he came up, I dexterously planted the 
second blow exactly where I had the first, and down he 
went again. 

“ A trump, by Jupiter!” “ Give it to him, stranger !” 
“He’s a few!” were some of the expressions which 
greeted me from the delighted by*standers. 

But I had a short time to enjoy my triumph — if such 
a display of physical powers may be termed a triumph — 
for the next moment I beheld my adversary again ap- 


42 INCIDENTS OF THE JOURNEY. 


proaching, but more warily than before, and evidently 
bjtter prepared for the combat. I was not considered a 
bad pugilist for one of my age, nor did I in general fear 
one of my race ; but as I gazed upon my advancing foe, 
I will frankly own that I trembled for the result. He 
was a powerfully-built man, six feet in stature, had a tre- 
mendous arm, and an eye that would quail before noth- 
ing mortal. 

“Young chap,” he exclaimed, with an oath, as he 
came up, “ you’ve done what nobody else has for years. 
Take that, and see how you’ll like it ; ” and with the 
word he threw all his strength into a blow that fell like 
a sledge hammer. 

I saw it, and prepared to ward it. I did so, partially, 
but its force broke my guard, and his double-jointed fist, 
alighting upon my head, staggered me back and brought 
me to my knees. With all the suppleness of which I was 
master, I sprung to my feet, only to receive another 
blow, which laid me out upon the flinty pavement. For 
a moment I was stunned and confused ; but, regaining 
my senses and feet, I prepared to renew the contest. 

“ I say, stranger,” said my antagonist, motioning his 
hand for a parley, “ you’re good blood, but you h’ain’t 
got quite enough of the metal to cope with me. You’re 
only a boy yit, and so just consider yourself licked, and 
go home, afore I git cantankerous and hurt you a few.” 

But I was not in a condition to take his advice. True, 
I was bruised and fatigued, and should have rested satis- 
fied to let the affair end thus. But my worst passions had 
now got the better of my reasoning powers. I fancied 
I had been insulted, disgraced, and that nothing but vic- 
tory or death could remove the stigma. I saw some of 
the spectators smile, and some look pityingly upon me, 
and this decided my course of action. My temper rose, 
my eyes flashed, and my checks burned, as I thought of 
the insulting words of the other. 

“Some men live by bullying,” I replied, pointedly ; 
“and I suppose you are one of such ; if not, you will 
keep your advice till one of us is the victor.” 

My opponent looked upon me with a mingled ex- 
pression of surprise and rage. 


INCIDENTS OF THE JOURNEY. 43 


“Fool !” he cried ; “do you dar’ me again to the fight? 
Well, then, I’ll whip you this time or die!” 

“ Make your words good I” I retorted, springing for- 
ward and pretending to aim a blow at his head. 

Instead of striking with my fist, however, I only 
made a feint, and, doubling with great dexterity, took 
him with my head just below the pit of the stomach, and 
hurled him over backward upon the ground. He threw 
out his hand, caught me as he fell, and drew me upon 
him. 

Now came the contest in earnest. I had a slight ad- 
vantage in being uppermost ; but, throwing his arms 
around, he strove to turn me. I seized him by the throat, 
and clung there with the tenacity of a bull-dog to his 
victim. He made a desperate effort to bring me under, 
but still I maintained my position. The force of my 
grasp now began to tell upon him. He strangled, and I 
could sensibly perceive he was growing weaker. At 
length, just as I was about to relax my hold, for fear of 
choking him to death, he suddenly threw up one hand, 
buried it in my hair, twined a long lock around his fin- 
ger, and the next moment placed his thumb to my eye, 
with a force that seemed to start the ball from its socket. 

Great Heaven ! what a feeling of horror came over 
me ! I was about to lose an eye — be disfigured for 
life. Death, I fancied, was preferable to this ; and in- 
stantly releasing his throat, I seized his hand with both 
of mine. This was exactly what he desired ; and the 
next moment I found myself whirled violently upon my 
back on the rough pavement, and my antagonist upper- 
most. I attempted to recover my fortner advantage, but 
in vain. My adversary was by far too powerful a man. 
Grasping my throat with one hand, with such a pressure 
that everything began to grow dark, he partly raised 
himself, {Dlanted a knee upon my breast, and with the 
other hand drew a long knife. I just caught a glimmer 
of the blade, as he raised it to give me a fatal stab ; but 
I was too exhausted and overmastered to make any re- 
sistance ; and I closed my eyes in despair, and felt that 
all was over. 

Suddenly I heard the voice of Teddy, shouting : 


44 INCIDENTS OF THE JOURNEY. 


“ To the divil wid ye, now, for a bothering spalpeen, 
that ye is !” and at the same moment I felt the grasp of 
my opponent leave my throat and his weight my body. 

With my remaining strength I rose to a sitting pos- 
ture, and found Teddy dancing around me, flourishing 
a hickory shillalah over his head in the scientific manner 
of his countrymen, and whooping, shouting and cursing 
in a way peculiar to himself. 

By some means he had been made aware of my 
danger, and, like a noble fellow, had rushed into the 
crowd and felled my adversary with a blow so powerful 
that he still lay senseless upon the ground. 

“ And who are you that dares thus to interfere ?’' 
cried a voice in the crowd, which found immediate echo 
with a dozen others. 

“ Who am I, ye blaggards?” roared Teddy. “Who 
should I be but a watchman doing me duthy ? Come,” 
he cried, seizing me by the collar, “ yees’ll git a lock-up 
the night for this blaggard business of disturbing the 
slumbers of honest paaple afore they’ve gone to bid, jist.” 

I saw his ruse at once, and determined to profit by it 
and make my escape. To do this I pretended that I was 
not the aggressor, and that it was very hard to be brought 
up before the mayor for a little harmless fun. 

“ Harmless fun !” roared the cunning Irishman. 
“ D’yees call it harmless fun, now, to have your throat 
cut, ye scoundrel ? Come along wid ye !” and he pre- 
tended to jerk me through the crowd, which gave way 
before him. 

We had just got fairly clear of the mass, when we 
heard voices behind us shouting : 

“ Stop ’em ! stop ’em ! — he’s no watch.” 

“Faith, they’re afther smelling the joke whin it’s too 
late,” said Teddy. “ But run, your honor, or the divils 
will be howld of us.” 

I needed no second prompting ; and with the aid of 
the Irishman, who partially supported me, for I was still 
weak, I darted down a dark and narrow street. 

For a short distance we heard the steps of pursuers 
behind us ; but gradually one after another gave up the 
chase, until at last we found our course left free. 


THE PRAIRIE AND TRAPPERS. 


45 


It would be impossible for me to picture the joy I 
felt at my escape, or my gratitude toward my deliverer. 
Turning to the Irishman, I seized his hand, while my eyes 
filled with tears. 

“Teddy,” I said, “you have saved my life, and I shall 
not soon forget it.” 

“Troth, your honor,” replied Teddy, with a comical 
look, “ it was wor-r-th presarving — for it’s the best and 
ounly one yees got.” 

1 said no more, but silently slipped a gold coin into 
his hand. 

“ Sure and how smooth it makes a body’s hands to be 
butthered !” observed the Irishman, as he carefully hid 
the coin in his pocket. 

Deep was the sympathy of Huntly for me, when, ar- 
rived at the hotel, I detailed what had occurred in my 
absence ; and as deep his gratitude to the preserver of 
my life. 

“ Frank,” he exclaimed, grasping my hand, “ hence- 
forth you go not alone, in the night, in a strange city.” 

The next day, though stiff and sore from my bruises, 
I found myself gliding down the Ohio on a splendid 
steamer, bound for St. Louis, where in due time we all 
arrived without accident or event worthy of note. 


CHAPTER V. 


THE PRAIRIE AND THE TRAPPERS. 


HE prairie ! the mighty, rolling, and seemingly 
boundless prairie ! With what singular emo- 
tions I beheld it for the first time ! I could 
compare it to nothing but a vast sea, changed 
suddenly to earth, with all its heaving, roll- 
ing billows. Thousands upon thousands of acres lay 
spread before me like a map, bounded by nothing but 
the deep, blue sky. What a magnificent sight ! A sight 



46 THE PRAIRIE AND TRAPPERS. 


that made my soul expand with lofty thought, and its 
frail tenement sink into utter nothingness before it. 
Talk of man — his power, his knowledge, his greatness — 
what is he ? A mere worm, an insect, a mote, a nothing, 
when brought in compare with the grand, the sublime, 
in nature. Go, take the mighty one of earth — the crim- 
son-robed, diamond-decked monarch, whose nod is law, 
-and whose arrogant pride tells him he rules the land and 
sea — take him, bring him hither, and place him in 
the center of this ocean of land — far, far beyond the 
sounds of civilization — and what does he become? Talk 
to him then of his power, his greatness, his glory ; tell 
him his word is law — to command and he shall be 
obeyed ; remind him of his treasures, and tell him now 
to try the power of gold ! Whac would be the result? 
He would deeply feel the mockery of your words, and 
the nothingness of all he once valued ; for, alas ! they 
would lack the power to guide, to feed, or save him from 
the thousand dangers of the wilderness. 

Similar to these were my thoughts, as I stood alone, 
upon a slight rise of ground, and overlooked miles upon 
miles of the most lovely, the most sublime, scene I had 
ever beheld. Wave upon wave of land, if I may be al- 
lowed the expression, stretched away on every hand, 
covered with beautiful, green prairie-grass and the 
blooming wild flowers of tlie wilderness. Afar in the 
distance I beheld a drove of buffaloes quietly grazing ; 
in another direction a stampede of wild horses, rushing 
onward with the velocity of the whirling car of modern 
days ; nearer, 1 occasionally caught glimpses of various 
other animals ; while flocks of birds, of beautiful plu- 
mage, skimming over the surface, here and there alight- 
ing, or starting up from the earth, gave the enchantment 
of life and variety to the picture. 

It had been a beautiful day, and the sun was now just 
burying himself in the far-off ocean of blue, and his 
golden rays were streaming along the surface of the 
waving grass and tinging it with a delightful hue. 
Occasionally some elevated point, like the one on 
which I stood, caught for a moment his fading rays, 
and shone like a ball of golden fire. Slowly he took 


THE PRAIRIE AND TRAPPERS. 


47 


his diurnal farewell — as if loth to quit a scene so lovely 
— and at last hid himself from my view beyond the west- 
ern horizon. Then a bright, golden streak shot up 
toward the darkening dome of heaven, and, widening on 
either hand, gradually became sweetly blended with the 
cerulean blue. Then this slowly faded, and took a more 
crimson color ; then more purple ; until, at last, a faint 
tinge showed the point where the sun had disappeared, 
while the stars began to appear in the gray vault above. 

I had stood and marked the whole change with that 
poetical feeling of pleasant sadness which a beautiful 
sunset rarely fails to awaken in the breast of the lover of 
nature. I noted every change that was going on, and 
yet my thoughts were far, far away, in my native land. 
I was thinking of the hundreds of miles that separated 
me from the friends that I loved. I was recalling the 
delight with which I had, when a boy, viewed the fare- 
well scenes of day from some of the many romantic hills 
of old New England. I pictured the once cheerful home 
of my parents, which I had forsaken, and which now per- 
adventure was cheerful no longer in consequence of my 
absence. I fancied I could see my mother move to the 
door, with a slow step and heavy heart, and gaze with 
maternal affection toward the broad and mighty West, 
and sigh, and wonder what had become of him who 
should have been the stay and support of her declining 
years. I thought, and I grew more sad as I thought, 
until tears filled my eyes. 

Mother ! what a world of affection is comprised in 
that single word ! How little do we, in the giddy round 
of youthful pleasures and follies, heed her wise counsels! 
How lightly do we look upon that jealous care with 
which she guides our otherwise erring feet ! and watches, 
with feelings which none but a mother can know, the 
gradual expansion of our youth to the riper years of 
discretion ! We may not think of it then, but it will be 
recalled to us in after years, when the gloomy grave, or 
a fearful living separation, has placed her far beyond 
our reach, and her sweet voice of sympathy and consola- 
tion, for the various ills attendant upon us, sounds in 
our ear no more. How deeply then may we regret a 


48 THE PRAIRIE AND TRAPPERS. 


thousand deeds done contrary to her gentle admonitions! 
How deeply then may vve sigh for those days once more, 
to retrieve what had been done amiss, and make her sweet 
heart glad with happiness. Alas ! once gone, they can 
rarely be renewed, and vve grow mournfully sad with 
the bitter reflection. 

My mother — my dearly beloved mother — would I 
ever behold her again ? Should I ever return to my 
native land, would I find her among the living? If not 
— if not ! Heavens ! what a sad, what a painful, thought ! 
and instantly I found my eyes swimming in tears, and 
my frame {rembling with nervous agitation. But I 
would hope for the best ; I would not borrow trouble ; 
and gradually I became calm. Then I thought of my 
father — of many other dear friends — and, lastly, though 
I strov'^e to avoid it, I thought of Lilian — sweet, lost, but 
ah ! dearly loved Lilian. I could see her gentle features 
— I could hear her plaintive voice — soft and silvery as 
running waters — and I sighed, a long, deep sigh, as I 
thought. Would I ever behold her again ? I might, but 
— (my blood ran cold) — but — wedded to another. 

“Ay ! wedded to another !“ I fairly groaned aloud, 
with a start that sent the red current of life swiftly 
through my veins. 

I looked around me, and found it already growing 
dark. The beautiful scene I had so lately witnessed was 
now faded from my sight ; and the gloomy howl of a 
distant pack of wolves reminded me that 1 was now be- 
yond civilization, in the wilderness of an extensive 
prairie. I looked downward, and within a hundred 
yards of me beheld the fire of our first camp on the prai- 
rie, and with a hasty step I descended the eminence and 
joined my companions. 

“ Ah, Frank,” said Huntly, as I came up, “ I was be- 
ginning to fear something had happened to you, and you 
can easily imagine my feelings ! Why did you absent 
yourself so long?” 

“ I was on yonder eminence, enraptured with the 
glories of the sunset scene,” I replied, somewhat eva- 
sively. 

“Ah, was it not a splendid sight?” he rejoined, en- 


THE PRAIRIE AND TRAPPERS. 


49 


thusiastically, with sparkling eyes. I too beheld it with 
rapture, and regretted that you were not by to sympa- 
thize with me in my poetical feelings. But come„ sup- 
per is preparing, and so let us regale ourselves at once, 
and afterward take our first sleep in this magnificent 
wild.” 

As I said before, this was our first camp on. the 
prairie. On our way hither we had joined a party of 
four hunters or trappers, and in consequence our num- 
ber was now augmented to seven. We had thrown off 
the lighter and more costly apparel of the settlements, 
and were now costumed in the rougher garments worn 
by the hunters of the Rocky Mountains. This consisted 
of a frock or hunting-shirt, made of dressed buckskin, 
and ornamented with long and parti-colored fringes. 
Our nether garments were of the same material, orna- 
mented in the same manner, and on our feet were moc- 
casins. Round the waist of each was a belt, supporting 
a brace of pistols and a long knife, the latter in a sheath 
made of buffalo hide. A strip of leather, passing over 
our right shoulders, suspended our powder-horns and 
bullet-pouches under our left arms. In the latter we 
carried flint and steel, and small articles of various kinds, 
that had been mentioned as being useful where we pro- 
cured our outfit. Among other things, we had taken 
care to secure plenty of ammunition, tobacco and pipes, 
together with an extra supply of apparel for the cold 
regions toward wliich we were journeying ; all of which 
were snugly stored away in our large buffalo-skin wal- 
lets — called by the trappers “possibles,” or “possible 
sacks ” — which were either attached to or thrown across 
our saddles. 

In the description just given, I have been speaking of 
our party alone — namely, Huntly, Teddy and myself — 
without regard to the trappers, who were costumed and 
equipped much like ourselves, with the exception that 
instead of horses their animals were mules, and instead 
of one apiece they had three. They, however, were 
bound on a regular trapping expedition, and carried 
their traps with them, and took along their mules for 
furs ; while we, going merely on adventure, and not 
3 


50 


THE TEA/E/E ANJD TEAPFEES. 


speculation, had only taken the animals upon which we 
rode. Our horses and appendages, what we had, were 
all of the finest description ; and our long, silver-mounted 
rifles drew many a wistful look from our newly-made 
companions. Our chief object in joining them was to 
learn their habits and customs in the wilderness, before 
we ventured forth upon our own resources ; and by being 
somewhat liberal in supplying them with tobacco, and 
many small things of great value to the trapper, we se- 
cured their friendship and favor at once. 

The trapper of the Rocky Mountains is a singular 
being. Like the boatman of the river, the sailor of the 
ocean, or the scout of the forest, he has peculiar charac- 
teristics, both as regards manners and dialect. Con- 
stantly exposed to danger and hardship, he becomes 
reckless of the one and indifferent to the other. His 
whole life, from beginning to end, is a constant succes- 
sion of perilous adventures ; and so infatuated does he 
become with the excitement attendant upon these, that, 
confined in a settlement, he would literally pine to death 
for his free mountain air and liberty to roam. 

There is no polish — no sickly, sentimental refine- 
ment in his manners and conversation ; but, on the con- 
trg^ry, all is rude, rough, blunt and to the point. When 
he says a thing, he means it ; and, in general, he has but 
little deceit. With death he becomes so familiar that all 
fear of the dread king of mortality is lost. True, he 
clings to life with great tenacity — but then there is no 
whimpering and whining at his fate. When he finds his 
time has come to go, he stands up like a man, and takes 
the result with the stoicism of a martyr. He is fre- 
quently a great boaster, and, like the sailor, delights in 
narrating strange tales of liis wonderful adventures and 
hairbreadth escapes. In his outward behavior he is often 
sullen and morose ; but, as a general tiling, his heart is 
in the right place. He will kill and scalp an Indian foe 
with the same indilference and delight that he would 
shoot a bear or deer, and yet you may trust your life 
and money in his hands with perfect safety. In fact, I 
may say, his whole composition is a strange compqun4 


THE PRAIRIE AND TRAPPERS, 


51 


of odds and ends — of inexplicable incongruities — of good 
and evil. 

Until within the last few days I had never seen a 
trapper, and of course he was to me and my companions 
as great an object of curiosity as would have been an 
aboriginal. The four which we had joined were genuine 
specimens of the mountaineers. Each had seen much 
service, had been more or less upon trapping expeditions, 
and one had actually grown gray in the hardy life of 
the wilderness. Each had trapped on his own account 
and for others ; and each had scoured the whole vast 
country — from the upper regions of Oregon to the Mex- 
ican latitude — from the States to the Pacific Ocean. 
They were acquainted with the land in every direction — 
knew all the regularly organized fur companies — all the 
trading forts and stations — and consequently were just 
the men to initiate us into all the peculiarities of the wil- 
derness, all the mysteries of the trapper’s life, and ex- 
cite our marvelous propensities by their startling and 
wonderful tales. They gloried in the sobriquets of Black 
George, Rash Will, Fiery Ned and Daring Tom — appel- 
lations which had been bestowed on them for some pe- 
culiar look in their persons or trait in their characters. 

The first mentioned, Black George, was the eldest of 
the party, and had doubtless received his nickname from 
his dingy complexion, which was but little removed from 
the sable son of Africa. Naturally dark, liis skin had 
become almost black from long exposure to the weather. 
In height he was fully six feet, gaunt and rawboned, 
with great breadth of shoulders, ponderous limbs and 
powerful muscles, which gave him a very formidable 
appearance. Although approaching sixty, his vigor 
seemed not the least impaired by age. His coarse hair, 
once black, was now an iron gray. His face was thin 
and long, with high cheek bones, pointed nose, hollow 
cheeks, large mouth, and cold, gray eyes. The wonted 
expression of his countenance was harsh and repulsive, 
though it was occasionally lighted with a humorous, 
benevolent smile. He was generally liked and respected 
by the whites, but hated and feared by the Indians, of 


52 


THE PRAIRIE AND TRAPPERS. 


whom he was a mortal enemy that seldom failed to take 
their “hair whenever opportunity presented. 

The next in order, Rash Will, as he was denominated, 
was a stout, heavy-built man, somewhat above the 
medium stature, and about forty years of age. He had 
a large, Roman nose and mouth, thick lips, low forehead 
and blue eyes. The general expression of his physiog- 
nomy was a blunt, straightforwardness, without regard 
to consequences. He could do a good deed or an evil 
one; and if he could justify the latter to himself, he 
cared not a straw for the opinions of others. Headstrong 
and violent when excited by anger, he had been the 
author of some dark deeds among the savages, which 
fully entitled him to the appellation of Rash Will. 

The third in order. Fiery Ned, was about thirty-five 
years of age, of a robust, handsome form, some five feet 
ten inches in height, and fully developed in every part. 
His features were comely and prepossessing. The only 
marked points of his countenance were his eyes — which 
were small, black, restless and piercing — and his fore- 
head, which was high and ample. His temperament was 
ardent, passionate and fiery. At times he was cool, frank 
and generous ; but at others, especially in an Indian 
fight, he became wild, furious, and, in short, a perfect 
devil. j 

The last of the four. Daring Tom, was the youngest I 
and the most to my liking of any. He was about thirty I 
)^earsof age, and of middling stature. Unlike his com- 
panions, his features were very fine, almost effeminate, 
with a mild, dignified expression, that instantly won the 
regard of all with whom he came in contact. He had a 
large, full, clear blue eye, which rarely varied its expres- 
sion, be the circumstances what they might. Cool and 
collected at all times, he was never more so than when 
surrounded by imminent danger. There was no risk he 
would not run to serve a friend, and on no occasion had 
he ever been known to display the least sign of fear — 
hence was he called Daring Tom. 

Such is an outline sketch of the trappers who had now 


Scalps. 


THE PRAIRIE AND TRAPPERS. 


53 


become our companions ; and probably, take us all to- 
gether, there was not, in the whole broad West, another 
party of the same number that could present a more for- 
n^idable appearance, or perform greater feats in the heat 
of contest. 

At the moment when I came up to the fire, each of 
the trappers was seated beside it on the ground, cross- 
legged, engaged in toasting slices of a fat buck, which 
one of them had killed and brought in not an hour be- 
fore. They were talking away briskly all the while, 
telling some wonderful tale, or cracking some joke, lo 
the great amusement of Teddy O’Lagherty, who, a little 
apart, was seated in a similar manner to themselves, and 
listening attentively, with ^mouth and eyes widely dis- 
tended. A little distance from the fire our hoppled ani- 
mals were quietly cropping the luxuriant herbage be- 
neath them. 

“ So then, Charley,” I said, after having taken a gen- 
eral survey, “ I suj^pose we are to fatten on deer meat ?” 

“ Deer meat and salt,” he replied, with a laugh. 
‘‘ The fancy preparations of civilization will regale us no 
longer, and we may be thankful if we always get fare as 
good as this.” 

While saying this, Huntly had drawn nearer to the 
fire, so that the last remark caught the ear of Black 
George, who was just on the point of enforcing some 
assertion with an oath, but who suddenly stopped short, 
and turned to him with a comical look. 

“ See heyar, young chap, didn’t I hearn you say you 
was from Bosson, or some sich place in the States ?” 

“ Doubtless,” answered Huntly, “ for that, I am proud 
to say, is my native city.” 

“ Oh, it’s a city, then ? Big’s St. Louey, hey ?” 

“ Much larger.” 

“ Do say. Why then it’s some, I reckons.” 

“ A very flourishing place.” 

“ Hum ! You was born to Bosson ?” 

“Ay, and bred there.” 

Bread? Oh, that means you was foddered thar, I 
s’pose 

“ Yes, brought up and educated there.” 


54 


THE PRAIRIE AND TRAPPERS. 


“ Eddicated — augh ! Heyar’s what never did that ; 
never had no need on’t ; know how to shoot and trap, 
but can’t make pot hooks ; can’t tell ’em when they is 
made ; know they’s some, though, and wouldn’t mind I 
knowed ’em a few — but don’t care much no how ; couldn’t 
live no longer for’t ; couldn’t ‘float my sticks’ * no bet- 
ter I s’pect. Well, for a younker, you’ve had a right 
smart chance, and I s’pose know a heap.f Heyar’s what’s 
born way down to Arkansaw, on a swamp patch, that 
didn’t yield nothin’ worth divin’ for. I’s raised down 
thar — or bread, as you calls it, young Bosson, (s’pose 
you’ve got no objection to bein’ called arter your native 
city) — tiiough almighty poor bread I was, for I didn’t git 
much on’t fora spell — in faet till I’d nearly gone underj 
— augh ! Let’s see, whar was I ? Oh, you’s saying ’bout 
bein’ thankful for sich fare’s this. It tickled me a heap — 
it did — and I had to in’ardly hold on tight to my ribs to 
keep from guffawing. Why, young Bossoners, (address- 
ing both of us) ef you’d seen wliat I hev, apiece like that 
thar, (pointing to the meat on the end of his stick, which 
he was toasting at the fire,) would a bin a heaven on arth, 
and no mistake ! Talk about bein’ thankful for sich fare’s 
this ! Wait till you’ve seed your boss go under, and the 
last eend o’ the eatable part o’ your possibles chawr’dup, 
and then talk.” 

Here the old m.an paused and chuckled heartily, and 
winked at his companions, who joined him in his merri- 
ment, to the utter consternation of poor Teddy, who, with 
mouth wide open, and eyes enlarged to their utmost 
capacity, simply exclaimed : 

“ Murtheration now ! what a baastly time on’t yees 
had !” 

“ I suppose you have seen some very rough times ?” 

* That is, couldn’t get along any better. This is a common ex- 
pression among the trappers, and its meaning depends altogether 
upon the sense in which it is used. It is derived from their occupa- 
tion. A “stick” is attached to each trap by a string, and if the 
beaver runs away with the trap, the stick, floating on the surface of 
the water, indicates the whereabouts of the animal, and enables the 
trapper to recover his property. 

f A western word, equivalent to “very much.” 
i Died — another expression peculiar to the trapper. 


THE OLD TRAPPERS TALE. 


55 


I rejoined, anxious to draw the old man out in some of 
his wonderful tales of adventure. 

“ Wall, I has, hoss,” was the quick response ; ^*and ef 
you want to make folks stare in the States, you’d better 
]est jog down one I’ve a notion to tell.” 

“We shall all beeagor listeners,” I rejoined. 

“Think you’d like to hear it, hey ?” 

“ Oh, most certainly.” 

The old man smiled complacently, and stroked his 
beard in a way to denote that he felt himself somewhat 
complimented. 

“ Got any bacca?” 

I gave him a large piece. 

“ Wall, plant yourselves down here, in talking distance, 
and, while this deer meat’s a sizzling. I’ll tell you a 
trump and an ace at that.” 

Huntly and myself at once seated ourselves upon the 
ground, as near the old man as possible, who, giving the 
weed a few extra turns in his mouth, began the following 
marvelous narration. 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE OLD trapper’s TALE. 


E see, strangers,” said the old man, “ or Bos- 
soners (though I s’pect it don’t make no par- 
tikelar difference what I calls ye, so it don’t 
hurt your feelin’s none), as I sez afore, I was 
raised down to Arkansaw, or tharabouts, and 
it’s nigh on to sixty year now sence I fust tuk a center- 
shot at daylight, and in course I’ve forgot all the feelin’s 
a fust sight gin me. Howsomever, that’s nothin’ here 
nor t’other. (I say, Will, </■ you’ve got that thar bottle 
about you, I doesn’t mind a taste, jest to grease this here 
bacca— augh ! Thankee, Will ; you’re some,y^7// is.) 

“ Wall, strangers, you needn’t s’pect I’m a-goin’ to gin 



THE OLD TRAFPEHS TALE. 


56 

ye my whole hist’ry, case I isn’t, and don’t know’s I 
could ef I wanted to, case most on’t’s forgot. So now 
I’ll jest jump over a heap o’ time, and come dowm to ’bout 
four year ago come next Feberry, when it was so all-fired 
cold it froze icykels on to the star rays, and stopped ’em 
cornin’ down ; and the sun froze so he couldn’t shine ; 
and tlie moon didn’t git up at all, she didn’t ; and this 
here arth was as dark as a stack o’ black wild cats.” 

Here the Irishman, unable to stand it longer, roared 
out : 

“ Blatheration ! ye’re notspaking truth, now, Misther 
Black George ?” 

“Ain’t I, though ?” answered the old trapper, gravely, 
silently tipping the wink to one of his companions. 
“D’ye think I’d lie about it? You remember the time, 
Will?” 

“ Wall, I does, boss,” replied Will, with a grin. 

“ In course ye does, and so does everybody that 
knowed anything ’bout it. I may hev exaggerted a leetle 
’bout the stars and them things, but I jest tell ye what 
was fact and no mistake, and I’ll be dog-gone ef I doesn’t 
stake my v’racity on it’s being true as preachin’ !” 

Here the old man made a pause. 

“ Well, well, go on !” cried I. 

“ Ay, ay !” echoed Huntly. 

“Wall,” said Black George, “a little drap more o’ 
that critter — jest a taste — case the truth makes me so in- 
farnal dry, you can’t tell. Augh ! thankee — (returning 
the bottle) — feel myself agin now. But let’s see — whar 
was I ?” 

“ You were speaking about the weather.” 

“ So I was ; that’s a fact ; I’ll be dog-gone if I wasn’t ! 
Wall, as I’s a-sayin’, it got so cold that when you thro wed 
water up in the air, it all froze afore it could git down, 
and acterly had to stay thar, case it froze right on to the 
atmospheric.” 

“On to what ?” 

“ The atmospheric.” 

“ What is that ?” 

“You doesn’t know what atmospheric is? Wall, I’ll 
be dog-gone ef I’m goin’ to ’lighten nobody ; much’s I 


THE OLD TRAPPEHS TALE. 


57 


ken do to understand for myself. But I knows the water 
froze to that thar article, for that’s what I hearn a schol- 
lard call it, and I reckon he knowed a heap any how.” 

“ Well, well, the story !” cried I. 

“Yes; wall, I haint got through tellin’ how cold it 
was yit. Not only the water froze to the atmospheric, 
but the animals as used to run o’ nights all quit the busi- 
ness ; and you could walk right up to one and pat him 
han’some ; case why — his eye-sight was all froze right 
up tight to his head. Fact ! I’ll be dog-gone ef it 
wasn’t ! 

“ Wall, I’d bin out a trappin’, and had made a purty 
good lick at it, and was cornin’ down to Bent’s Fort, to 
make a lounge for the winter — leastways for what was 
left on’t — when, jest as I crossed Cherry Creek, arter 
havin’ left the Sothe Platte, I wish I may be smashed ef 
I didn’t see ’bout a dozen cussed Rapahoes (Arrapahoes) 
coming toward me on bosses, as ef Old Nick hisselfwas 
arter ’em. I looked around me, and durned o’ a thing 
could I see but snow and ice — and the snow was froze 
so hard that the bosses’ and muleys’ feet didn’t make no 
dents into it. I was all alone, hoss-back, with three 
good muleys, all packed han’some ; for Jim Davis — him 
as traveled with me — and Andy Forsker, another chap 
that made our party — had gone round another way, jest 
for fear o’ them same painted heathen as was nowa-comin’ 
up. But ye see I’d bin bolder nor them, and now I was 
a-goin’ to pay for’t sartin ; for I seed by thar looks they 
was bound to ‘ raise my ha’r ef I didn’t do so’thing for 
my country quicker. I looked all around me, and 
thought I was a gone beaver fast enough. I had a purty 
good boss under me, and I knowed he only could save 
me, and a mighty slim chance he’d hev on’t at that. 
Howsomever, I reckoned it wasn’t best to say die ef I 
could live, and I didn’t like the notion o’ being ‘rubbed 
out ’ f by sich a dog-gone scrimptious lookin’ set o’ half 
humans as them thar Rapahoes. I cast around me, and 
seed that old Sweetlove (rifle), and her pups (pistols), 
and my butchers (knife and tomahawk) was all about; 


* Take my scalp. 


t Killed. 


S8 


THE OLD TRAPPER'S TALE. 


and so I jest swore I’d set my traps and make one on 
'em come ef I went a wolfin’ for it. 

“ I said thar was about a dozen — mayhap more — and 
they was ticklin’ thar bosses’ ribs mighty han’some, you’d 
better believe ; and a cornin’ for me with aparfect loose- 
ness ; every one on ’em carryin’ a bow, and every bow 
bent with an arrer into it. I knowed my muleys was 
gone, sartin, and all my traps and furs ; but jest then I 
felt so all-fired mad, that I thought ef I could throw a 
couple I wouldn’t care a kick. So instead o’ trying to 
run away, I hollered ‘ Whoa ’ to the animals, and waited 
for the redskins to come up. (Jest a drap more of that, 
Rash, /f/you please ; for this here boss is as dry to-night 
as a dog-worried skunk). 

“ Wall, on they comes, thunderin’ away like a new- 
invented arthquake, and I s’pected for sartin I was a 
gone beaver. Jest afore they got up so as they could let 
thar shafts riddle me, the infarnal cowards, seeing as 
how I didn’t budge, had the oudaciousness to come to a 
halt, and stare at me as ef I was a kangaroo. I raised 
Sweetlove, and told her to tell ’em I’s about and some in 
a b’ar fight. She answered right han’some, did Sweet- 
love ; and down the for’ard one drapped right purty, he 
did. Wall, this sot the rest on ’em in a rage ; and, afore 
I knowed it, they was all around me, yellin’ like the Old 
Scratch. Half a dozen shafts come hissin’ through my 
buckskins ; and two on ’em stuck right in my meat-bag, 
and made me feel all over in spots like a Guinea nigger. 
Instanter I pulled out Svveetlove’s pups, and sot ’em to 
barkin’, and two more o’ the humans drapped down to 
see how the snow felt. Knowin’ it wasn’t no use foolin’ 
mo time, I jerked the ropes, and told Skinflint to travel 
afore my ha’rwas raised, leaving the muleys to do what 
they durned please. 

“ Seein’ me a-goin’, the oudacious Rapahoes thought 
they’d stop me ; but I rid right through ’em purty, and 
got another arrer in my back for it. 

“ Arter I’d got away, I looked round and seed two on 
'em a-comin’ like all possessed, with their lariats doubled 
tor a throw. I knowed, ef they got near enough. I’d be 
snaked off like a dead possum, and my ha’r raised afore 


THE OLD TRAPPER'S TALE. 


59 


I could say Jack Robinson. Mayhap I didn’t ax Skin- 
flint to do his puniest; and mayhap he didn’t, hey! 
Why he left a trail o’ fire behind him, as he went over 
that ar frozen snow, that looked for all nater like a streak 
o’lDig lightnin’. But it didn’t seem to be o’ no use ; for 
the infarnal scamps come thunderin’ on, jest about so fur 
behind, and I seed thar bosses was all o’ the right stuff. 
The sun was about a two hour up, and thar he stayed, he 
did ; for it was so almighty cold, as I said afore, he 
couldn’t git down to hide. 

“ Wall, on we run, and run, and run, till the bosses 
smoked and puffed like a Massassip steamer, and still 
we run. I made tracks, as nigh as could calkerlate, for 
the mountains, in the direction of Pike’s Peak ; and on 
we went, as ef old Brimstone was arcer us. I calkerlated 
my chasers ’ud git tired and gin in ; but they was the 
real grit, and didn’t seem to mind it the least bit. 

“ At last they begun to gain on me ; and I knowed, 
from the signs o’ Skinflint, that he’d hev to go under, 
sure as guns, ef I didn’t come to a rest purty soon. You’d 
better believe I felt queer jest then, and thought overall 
my sins, with the arrers sticking in me, front and back, 
like all git out. I tried to pray ; but I’d never larnt no 
prayers when a pup, and no\V^ I was too old a dog to 
ketch new tricks ; besides, it was so all-fired cold, that 
my thoughts stuck in my head like they was pinned thar 
with icykels. I’d been chased afore by the Comanches 
and Blackfoot, by the Pawnees and Kickapoos, by the 
Crows and Chickasaws, but I’d never had sich feel- 
in’s as now. The short on’t is, boys, I was gittin’ the 
squaw into me, and 1 knowed it ; but I’ll be dog-gone ef 
I could help it, to save my ha’r, that stood up so stiff 
and straight as to raise my hat and let the atmospheric 
in about a foot. I was gittin outrageous cold, too, and 
could feel my heart pumpin’ up icykels by the sack ,full, 
and I knowed death was about, sartin as daylight. 

“ ‘ Wall,’ sez I to myself, ‘ ole boss, you’ve got to go 
under and lose your topknot, so what’s the use a-kickin’ ?” 

Howsomever,’ I answered, ‘s’posin’ I has, I rcckon’s 
best to die game, ain’t it ?’ and with that I pulled old 
Sweetlove round and commenced fodderin’ her as best I 


6o 


THE OLD TRAPPERS S TALE. 


could. She knowed what was wanted, did Sweetlove, 
and looked right sassy — I’ll be dog-gone ef she didn’t. 

‘‘ ^ You’re a few, ain’t you ?’ sez I, as I rammed home an 
all-fired charge of powder that made her grunt like forty. 

Wall, I turned round, fotched her up to my face, and, 
drawing a bead* on to the nearest, pulled tlie trigger. 

“Now you needn’t believe it without ye take a notion, 
but I’ll be rumfuzzled (stir that fire, Ned, or this here 
meat won’t git toasted till midnight), ef she didn’t hold 
shoot about a minnet, and I all the time squintin’ away 
too, afore the fire could melt the ice round the powder 
and let her off. That’s a fact! I’ll be dog-gone ef it 
ain’t ! 

“ Wall, she went off at last, she did, with a whoosss-k 
cheeesss-cup cho-bang ; and I hope I may be dogged for 
a possum, ef one o’ my chasers didn’t hevto pile himself 
on a level with his moccasins right han’some. Now I 
thought as how this ’ud start the wind out o’ t’other, and 
put him on the back’ard track. But it didn’t. He 
didn’t seem to mind it no more’n’s ef it was the common- 
est thing out. 

“ Wall,’ thinks I to myself, ‘ mayhap you’ll ketch a 
few ef you keeps foolin’ your time that-a-ways ;’ and so 
I sot to work and foddered Sweetlove agin. 

“ By this time poor Skinflint, I seed, was gittin’ top- 
heavy right smart ; and I knowed ef I done anything, it 
’ud hev to be done afore the middle o’ next month, or 
’twouldn’t be o’ no use — not a durned bit. Wall, I took 
squint agin, plum-center, and blazed away ; but hang me 
up for b’ar’s meat ef it made the least diff’rence with 
that skunk of a Rapaho. I was parfect dumfouzled ; 
complete used up ; for I’d never missed a target o’ that 
size afore sence I was big enough to shoot pop-guns to 
flies. I felt sort o’ chawr’d up. Never felt so all of a 
heap afore but once’t, and that was when I axed Suke 
Harris to hev me, and she said ‘ No.’ 

“Now you’d better calkerlate I hadn’t no great deal 
o’ time to think ; for thar he was, the cussed Injin, jest 
as plain as the nose on your face, and a-comin’ full split 

* Taking close sight. 


THE OLD TRAPPER'^S TALE. 


6i 


right at me, with his rope quirled in his hand jest ready 
for a throw. Quicker as winkin’ I foddered Sweetlove 
agin, and gin him another plum-center, which in course 
I s’pected would knock the hind-sights off o’ him. Did 
it? Now you ken take my possibles, traps and muley^, 
ef it did. Did it? No! I reckon it didn’t. Thar he 
sot, straight up and down, a thunderin’ on, jest as ef the 
arth was made for his partikelar purpose. I begun to 
git skeered in arnest, and thought mayhap it was the 
devil deformed into a Injin ; and I’d a notion to put in a 
silver bullet, only I didn’t hap to hev none about me. 

“ On he come, the scamp ; and. on I bolted — or tried 
to, rayther — for Skinflint had got used up now, and down 
he pitched, sending me right plum over his noddle on to 
my back, whar I lay sprawlin’ like a bottle o’ spilt 
whisky. 

It’s all up now, and I’m a gone possum,’ sez I, as I 
seed the Injin come tearin’ ahead ; and I drawed the 
old butcher, and tried to feed one o’ the pups, but my 
fingers was so numb I couldn’t. 

“ Wall, up rides old Rapaho, lookin’ as savage nor a 
meat-ax, his black eyes shinin’ like two coals o’ fire. 
Wall, now, what d’ye think he did ? Did he shoot me? 
No! Did he rope (lasso) me? No! Did he try to? 
No, I’ll be dog-gone ef he did !” 

“ What did he do ? ” inquired I, quickly. 

“Ay, ay, what did he do ?” echoed Huntly. 

“ Bloody murther ! if ye knows what he did, Misther 
George, spaak it, jist, and relave yer mind now !” put in 
the Irishman. 

The old trapper smiled. 

“Rash,” he said, “ef that thar bottle isn’t empty. I’ll 
jest take another pull.” 

“’Tain’t all gone yit,” answered Rash Will ; “ s’pect 
’twill be soon, though ; but go it, old hoss, and gin us 
the rest o’ that blasted Rapaho affair.” 

The old man drank, smacked his lips, smiled and re- 
marked : 

“ How scrimptious deer meat smells.” 

“ But the Arrapaho !” cried I; “ what did he do ?” 

answered Black George, with a singular ex- 


62 


THE OLD TE AFTER TALE. 


pression that I could not define : “ Do ? Why, he rid up) 
to my boss and stopped, he did; and didn’t do nothin' 
else, he didn’t.” 

How so ?” 

“ Case he was dono for.” 

Dead ?” 

As dog meat — augh !” 

Ah ! you had killed him, then ?” cried I. 

*‘No I hadn’t, though.” 

“ What then ?” 

He’d died hisself, he had.” 

How, died ?” 

“ Froze, young Bossons — froze as stiff nor a white 
oak.” 

“ Froze ?” echoed two or three voices, mine among 
the rest. 

Yes, blaze my old carcass and send me a wolfin’ ef 
he hadn’t ! and I, like a blasted fool, had been runnin’ 
away from a dead Injin. Mayhap I didn’t sw’ar some, 
and say a few that ain’t spoke in the pulpit. You’d jest 
better believe, strangers, I felt soft as a chowdered pos- 
sum.” 

“ But how had he followed you if he was dead ?” 

“ He hadn’t, not partikerly; but his boss had; for in 
course he didn’t know his rider was rubbed out; and so 
he’d kept on arter mine, till the divin’ of old Skinflint 
fotched him up a-standin.” 

‘• Of course you were rejoiced at your escape ?” 

“ Why, sort o’ so, and sort o’ not; for I felt so all-fired 
mean, to think I’d bin runnin’ away from and shootin’ to 
a dead Injin, that for a long spell I couldn’t git wind 
enough to say nothin’. 

“ At last I sez, sez I, ‘ This heyar’s purty business 
now, ain’t it ? I reckons, old beaver, you’ve had little to 
do, to be foolin’ your time and burnin’ your powder in 
this way;’ and then I outs with old butcher, and swore 
I’d raise his ha’r. 

“ Wall, I coaxed my way up to his old boss, and got 
hold on hisself; but it wasn’t a durned bit o’ use; he was 
froze right tight to the saddle. I tried to cut into him, but 
I’ll be dog-gone ef my knife ’ud enter more ’n ’twould 


THE OLD TRAPFER^S TALE. 


63 


into a stone. Jest then I took a look round, and may I 
be rumboozledef the sun hadn’t got thawed a leetle, and, 
arter strainin’ so hard, had gone down with a jump right 
behind a big ridge. 

Wall,’ sez I, ‘this here pilgrim had better be mak- 
ing tracks somewhar, or he’ll spile, sure.’ 

“ So wishin’ old Rapaho a pleasant time on’t, I tried 
Skinflint; but findin’ it wasn’t no go, I gathered up sich 
things from my possibles as I couldn’t do without, pulled 
the arrers out o’ me, and sot off for a ridge ’bout five 
mile away. 

“ When I got thar, it was so dark you couldn’t 
tell a tree from a nigger; and the wind — phe-ew ! — it 
blowed so one time that I had to hitch on to a rock to 
keep myself any whar. I tried to strike a fire ; but my 
fingers was so cold I couldn’t ; and the snow had kivered 
up everything, so that thar wasn’t nothin’ to make it on. 

“ ‘ It’s a screecher,’ I sez to myself, ‘and afore day- 
light I’ll be rubbed out, sartin.’ 

“ At last I begun to feel purty queer, and so sleepy I 
couldn’t hardly keep open my peepers. I knowed ef I 
laid down and slept I was a gone beaver ; and so, stum- 
blin’ about, I got hold o’ a tree, and begun to climb ; and 
when I got up high enough I slid down agin ; and 
you’d better believe this here operation felt good — ef it 
didn’t I wouldn’t tell ye so. 

“ The whole blessed night I worked in this here way, 
and it blowin’, and snowin’, and freezin’ all the time like 
sixty. At last mornin’ come ; but it was a durned long 
time about it, and arter I’d gin in that daylight wasn’t no 
whar. 

“ Wall, as soon’s I could see, off I sot, and traveled, 
and traveled, I didn’t know which way nor whar, till night 
had come agin, and I hadn’t seen nothin’ human — and be- 
sides, I’d eat up all my fodder. I tried to shoot some- 
thin’; but I’ll be dogged ef thar was any varmints to 
shoot o’ no kind — they was all froze up tighter nor dur- 
nation. 

“ That night went like t’other, in rubbin’ a tree ; and 
the next day I sot on agin, and traveled till night, with- 
out eatin’ a bit o’ food. I had a leetle bacca, and that I 


64 


THE OLD TRAPPERS S TALE, 


chawr’d like all git out, until Fd chawr’d it all up, and 
begun to think I was chawr’d up myself. Fd got, 
though, whar I could find a few sticks, and I made a 
fire, and it’d a jest done ye good to seen the way I sot to 
it. 

“The next mornin’ I put on agin ; but Fd got so 
powerful weak that I rolled round like Fd been spylin’ 
a quart. Night come agin, and Fd got worse tangled up 
nor ever, and didn’t know the pint o’ compass from a 
buffler’s tail. 

“ ‘ Wall, it’s all up with this here coon,’ I sez ; ‘ and so 
what’s the use o’ tryin’ ? Mought as wall die now as 
when Fve got more sins to count and so, givin’ old 
Sweetlove a smack, and tellin’ her to be a good gal, I 
keeled over as nateral as shootin’. I looked up’ard, and 
seed a bright star, that ud just thawed its way down ; and 
thinkin’ mayhap I’d be thar soon, I gin in, and shut my 
peepers, as I s’pected for the last time. 

“ How long I laid thar I never knowed, and never 
s’pect to ; but when I seed daylight agin, I found this 
heyar hoss in a Injin lodge, somewhar about; and tickle 
me with a pitch pine-knot ef I ever knowed exactly 
whar — for I forgot to ‘blaze’* the place, and couldn’t 
never find it agin. At fust, in course, I thought I was in 
the other country folks tells about ; and thinks I, Fve 
been stuck ’mongst the Injins, jest to punish me for 
raisin’ so much ha’r while on the arth. I begun to git 
skeered, I tell ye ; but it wasn’t long afore I seed a sight 
that made it seem like Heaven any how — leastways I felt 
parfectly willin’ to be punished that way eternally, I 
did. (I say, Bosson, got any more bacca ? This here 
travels like a May frost.”) 

“Well, what did you see?” I inquired, as I hastily 
supplied him with the desired article. 

“See? S’posin’ you guess now. You’re what they 
calls a Yankee, and ort to guess anything.” 

“ Oh, I could not guess it I am satisfied.” 


*To “blaze” a tree is to mark it with an ax, or in some way, so 
that it can be identified. “A blazed path ” is one so marked through- 
out. 


THE OLD TRAPPER^S TALE. 


65 


I can now,” said the Irishman. 

“ Well, Teddy, out with it.” 

“ Why, he saan a bothel o’ whisky, in coorse ; what 
else should he sae to make him happy all of a sudden ?” 

A roar of laughter followed this reply, in which Black 
George good-humoredly joined. 

“ Wail, you is some at guessin’, you is,” replied the 
old trapper ; “ but you didn’t quite hit it, boss. I say, 
strangers, what’s the puniest sight you ever seed on the 
arth ?” 

“ A beautiful female,” I replied. 

“ Wall, that’s jest what I seen. I seed afore me a crit- 
ter, in the shape o’ a gal, that was the most purty I ever 
drawed bead on.” 

“ A beautiful girl?” I exclaimed. 

“Wall, stranger, she wasn’t nothin’ else, she wasn’t — 
I’ll be dog-gone ef she was !” 

“ Describe her !” 

“ Jest describe a angel, and you’ve got her to a T — ef 
you haven’t, why was beavers growed ? that’s all.” 

“ Who was she ?” 

“ Wall, now, boss, you’re gittin’ into the picters, and 
headin’ off this old coon right center. I never knowed 
who she was, onless she was a sperit — for I’ll be dog- 
gone ef ever I seed any thing half as decent ’bout a 
Injin.” 

“ Can you not describe her ?” 

“ Describe thunder ! Why, she was the tallest speci- 
men of a human as ever spylt par-flesh to buffler, she was. 
She had long ha’r, black as a thunder-cloud ; and eyes 
black too ; and so large and bright that you could see to 
shave in ’em as easy as trappin’. And then sich a face ! 
— wall, that was a face, now, or I wouldn’t tell ye so. It 
kept puttin’ me in mind o’ summer weather and persim- 
mons — it was so almighty warm and sweet-lookin’. And 
oh, sich a nose — sich lips — sich teeth — and, heavens and 
arth ! sich a smile ! (A drap more. Will, for this child’s 
mouth’s gittin’ watery a-thinkin’, and that meat looks 
like feedin’ time.”) 

“ Why, now you have raised my curiosity to the high- 


66 


THE OLD TRAPPER 'S TALE. 


est point,” I said, “and so I must have the rest of the 
storj forthwith.” 

“Boys often git thar cur’osity raised out here-aways, 
and thar ha’r too sometimes,” replied the old hunter, coolly 
taking his meat from the stick and commencing to eat. 

“ But you are going to finish your story, George ?” 
queried Huntly, quickly. 

“ Why, I s’pect I’ll hev to ; but I’ll make it short ; for 
I never likes to talk much ’bout that thar gal ; I al’ays 
feel so much all overish — I can’t tell nobody zactly 
how.” 

“ I suppose you fell in love with her returned 
Huntly, jocosely. 

The old trapper suddenly paused, with the meat half 
way to his mouth, and turned upon my friend with a 
frown and gleaming eyes. 

“ Look heyar, boy,” said he, “you don’t mean to insult 
this child, I reckon 

“ Far from it!” answered Huntly, quickly. “I only 
spoke in jest, and crave your pardon if I offended !” 

“ ’Twont do to jest about everything, young chap — 
case thar’s spots as won’t bear rubbin*. Howsomever, I 
sees you didn’t mean nothin’, and so I’ll not pack it. 
Talkin’ of love ! Now I doesn’t know much ’bout the ar- 
ticle, though I’ve seed nigh sixty year, and never was 
spliced to no gal ; but I’ll tell you what ’tis, Bosson, ef 
I’d been thirty year younger, ef I hadn’t made tracks with 
that ar gal, and hitched, then call me a buzzard and let 
me spile.” 

“ How old was she ?” I asked. 

“ Jest old enough to be purty, she was.” 

“ But how had she found you so opportunely ?” 

“ That’s whar I’m fooled ; for though I axed her, and 
she told me, I’ll be dog-gone ef I wasn’t thinkin’ how 
purty she looked when she talked, and let the whole 
on’t slip by me, like tryin’ to throw a buffler with a 
greased rope. All I could ever ketch on’t was that she, 
or some other Injin, or somebody else, come across me, 
and tuk me in, did up my scratches, and fotched me 
sensible. She said she was purty much of a beaver 
’mongst the Injins, and could do ’bout as she tuk a no- 


THE OLD TRAPPER TALE. 67 

tion ; but that ef I wanted my ha’r, I’d better be leavin’ 
right smart, or mayhap I’d be made meat of. Augh ! 

“Wall, arter it come dark, she packed some fodder 
for me, and acterly went herself along and seed me 
through the camp — for it wasn’t a re^’lar village of In- 
jins, no how. 

“ ‘ What tribe’s this ?’ I axed, arter I’d got ready to 
quit. 

“ ‘ That you musn’t know,’ sez she. ‘ Ax no ques- 
tions, but set your face that-a-ways, and keep your nose 
afore ye till daylight, and don’t come heyar agin, or 
you’re a dead coon.’ 

But ef you won’t tell this child the Injins’ name, 
tell me who you is ?’ 

“ ‘ I’m called Leni-Leoti, or Perrarie Flower,' sez she; 
and then, afore I could say, ‘Oh, you is, hey?’ she 
turned and put back like durnation. 

“ I’d a great notion to foller her, and I cussed myself 
artervvards case 1 didn’t ; but I s’spect I was feelin’ purty 
green then, and so I did jest what she told me to — ef I 
didn’t, 1 wish I may be dogged ! When it come mornin’, 
I looked all round, and concluded I was on t’other side 
of the ‘ Divide.’ So I tuk a new track ; and, arter many 
days’ travel, I fetched up in Brown’s Hole, whar I 
found lots o’ trappers and spent the winter — augh ! 
Now don’t ax no more — for you’ve got all this boss is 
agoin’ to tell ; for the whisky’s out, the bacca’s low, 
this coon’s ramptious, and the meat’s a-spylin’.” 

Here, sure enough, the old trapper came to a pause ; 
and although I felt curious to know more about the 
singular being he had described. Prairie Flower, I saw 
it would be useless to question him further. 

The conversation now turned upon trivial affairs, in 
which neither Huntly nor myself took much interest. 
We felt wearied and hungry ; and so, after regaling our- 
selves on toasted deer meat, without bread, and only a 
little salt, and having seen our animals driven in and 
picketed — that is, fastened to a stake in the ground, by a 
long lariat or rope of skin, so that they could feed in a 
circle — we threw ourselves upon the earth around the 
fire, and, with no covering but our garments, and the 


68 


A L UDICRO US MISTAKE. 


broad canopy of heaven, brilliantly studded with thou- 
sands on thousands of stars, slept as sweetly and soundly 
as ever we did in a thick-peopled settlement. 


CHAPTER VII. 

A LUDICROUS MISTAKE. • 

T the first tinge of day-break, on the following 
morning, I sprung to my feet ; and, rousing 
Hunlly,' we stole quietly from the circle of 
sleeping trappers, and took our way to the 
eminence from which I had viewed the fare- 
well of day the evening previous. 

It was a splendid morning ; and the air, clear, soft 
and balmy, was not stirred by a single zephyr. 

As we ascended the knoll and looked toward the east, 
we could barely perceive a faint blush, indicating the rosy 
dawn of day ; while a soft, gray light spread sweetly over 
the scene ; and the stars, growing less and less bright, 
gradually began to disappear from our view. Presently 
the blush of morn took a deeper hue, and, gently expand- 
ing on either hand, blended beautifully with the deepening 
blue. Tlien golden flashes siiot upward, growing brighter 
and brighter, till it seemed as if the world were on fire ; 
while night, slowly receding, gradually revealed the love- 
ly prairie to our enchanted gaze. Brighter, more golden, 
more beautiful grew the east, and brighter the light around 
us, until the stars had all become hidden, and objects far 
and near could be distinctly traced, standing out in soft 
relief from the green earth and the blue and golden sky. 

“ Magnificent !” I exclaimed, turning toward my 
friend, who was standing with his face to the east, his 
gaze fixed on high, apparently lost in contemplation. 

He did not reply; and, repeating my exclamation, I 
lightly touched him on the arm. 



A LUDICROUS MISTAKE. 


69 


He started suddenly, and turned toward me, with an 
expression so absent, so vacant, that I felt a slight alarm, 
and instantly inquired: 

“ Huntly, are you ill ?” 

“Ill, Frank? No! no! not ill, by any means,” he 
replied. “ Why do you ask ?” 

“ You appeared so strangely.” 

“ Indeed ! Well, where think you were mf 
thoughts ?’ 

“ How should I know ?” 

“ True enough, and I will tell you. I was thinking 
of that fair being we rescued from the flames.” 

“ And why of her now ?” 

“Not only now, Frank, but she fills my thoughts 
more than you are aware. Often do I see her in my 
dreams ; and the mere resemblance of yonder sky to fire, 
vividly recalled to mind that never-to-be-forgotten night 
when I first beheld her.” 

“Charley, you are in love.” 

“ It may be,” he answered, with a sigh ; “ but, alas ! 
if so, I love one whom I shall never behold again ;” and 
he dropped his head upon his breast in a musing mood. 

“ Nay, nay, old friend,” I said, gayly; “ it will not do 
for you to be getting sentimentally love-sick away out 
here upon tlie prairies. Who knows but some day she 
you are thinking of, may, in spite of your now doleful 
looks, become your own !” 

“ Frank,” said Huntly, in quick reply, with a look of 
reproach, “ if you knew my feelings, you would not 
wound them, I am sure, by untimely jests.” 

“ Good heavens, Charley !” I exclaimed, in surprise, 
at once grasping his hand with a hearty pressure ; “ I 
wound your feelings? Why, such a thought never 
entered my head. I spoke jestingly, it is true ; but I was 
not aware that the affair had become so serious. I was 
thinking at the time that one ailing youth in our camp 
was sufficient.” 

“ To whom do you allude ?” 

“ Myself.” 

“ How so ? I was not aware that you were ailing, as 
you call it.” 


70 


A LUDICROUS MISTAKE. 


“ Why, do you not know that I am in love, like your- 
self?” 

Heavens ! not with her, Frank ? not with her?” cried 
my friend, grasping my arm nervously, and peering into 
my face with a searching glance. 

“Ay, Charles, and I thought you knew it. I acted 
wrongly, I know, and have deeply repented since.” 

“ But then, you — you — love her still, Frank?” 

“ Devotedly, as God is my judge !” 

Huntly released my arm with a groan and turned away 
his head. 

“ What is the meaning of this, Charles ?” I inquired, 
in a tone of alarm. 

“ Why did you not tell me before ?” he said, with a 
long, deep sigh. 

“ First, because it is a delicate subject, and I did not 
like to mention it. Secondly, because you have never 
before alluded to it yourself.” 

“True; but I did not dream it was so. Ah! why, 
then, did you not let me perish in the flames ?” 

“ Perish, Charles ? — how strangely you talk ! Why 
should I have let you perish?” 

“ To end my misery.” 

“Misery? You alarm me, Charles — you are not well 
— you have bad news — or something has happened which 
you have kept from me !” 

“ You love her, you say ; is not that enough ? But go 
on ! I will yield all to you. I will not stand in your 
way. N o ! sooner would I die than mar your happiness. 
But I regret I did not know of it before.” 

“ Charles,” I exclaimed, in real alarm, “what mean 
you by these strange words? You stand in my way? I 
do not understand you ; you have some hidden mean- 
ing !” 

“ Have you, then, not divined that I love her?” 

“ Ay.” 

“ And can two love the same angelic being and both 
be happy?” 

“ Why not ? I would not rob you of your love. True, 
I love her deeply, devotedly, I swear to you ; and I know 
you love her also ; but then our love is different. You 


A LUDICROUS MISTAKE, 


71 


love her as a brother — but I as something more than a 
brother !” 

“ I see you are mistaken, Frank ; and to show you how 
much I sacrifice to your happiness, I will say, once for all, 
I love her as deeply, as devotedly, as passionately as your- 
self ; but not as a brother, my friend — oh, no — not as a 
brother !” 

“ Indeed, Charles !” I cried, with a terrible suspicion of 
something I dared not express : ‘‘Indeed, Charles !” and 
I grasped his arm, and sought his eye with mine : “ Indeed, 
Huntly ! No ! no ! gracious heavens ! you cannot mean 
what you have said ! Take it back, I beg of you ! and 
avow you love her as a brother, and nothing more — for 
more would be criminal !” 

“ I do not see the criminality you speak of,” he an- 
swered, coldly. “ Is it not enough that I have offered to 
sacrifice my own happiness, without being charged with 
crime ?” 

“ But, Charles, my friend, consider — you have uo right 
to an attachment warmer than a brother’s !” 

Right V' echoed Huntly, turning pale with excite- 
ment : Righty say you? Well, when it comes to that, 
I know not why my right to love her is not as good as 
yours !” 

‘‘ Shall I tell you ?” 

“Ay, do ! Quote me the law that makes it criminal 
for me to love and not yourself !” answered Charles, 
bitterly. 

“ The law of consanguinity !” 

“ Heavens ! what do you mean ?” 

Does not the same blood flow in the veins of both 
of you ?” 

“ Good Lord ! you chill my blood with horror ! you 
do not mean this ?” and my friend turned deadly pale, 
reeled like one intoxicated, and grasped my arm for sup- 
port. “ I was not aware of this, Frank !” 

I now became more alarme(i than ever. Something 
had assuredly turned the brain of my friend ; and he 
was now — (how I shuddered as I thought) — he was now 
a maniac ! 


72 


A LUDICROUS MISTAKE. 


“ Why, Charley,” I said, in a tone as soothing as I 
could command, “ surely you know her to be your sister!” 

“ Sister T' he fairly shrieked. 

“ Ay, sister, Charley ! Is not Lilian Huntly your 
sister ?” 

‘‘ Lilian ?” he cried, with a start, and a rapid change 
of countenance that terrified me. “Lilian? Then you 
were speaking of my sister Lilian ?” 

“ Assuredly I who else ?” 

Huntly looked at me for a moment steadily, and 
then burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, that 
made my blood run cold. 

“ Great Heaven !” I cried ; “ his senses are indeed 
lost !” and I was on the point of hurrying to camp, to 
give the alarm and get assistance, when, seizing me by 
the arm with one hand, and giving me a hearty slap on 
the shoulder with the other, he exclaimed : 

“ Frank, if ever there were two fools, then you and I 
are a pair !” 

“ Poor fellow !” I sighed, and my eyes filled with 
tears. “What a, shock it will be to his family 1” 

“ Why, Frank,” he cried again, accompanying his 
words with another slap, “you are dreaming, man ! — 
your senses are wool gathering !” 

“ Exactly !” I said ; “he, of course, thinks me insane, 
poor fellow !” 

“ Nonsense, Frank ! It’s all a mistake, my dear fel- 
low ! and a laughable one truly, as you must know. 
You were speaking of my sister Lilian ; while /, all the 
time, was alluding to the fair Unknown.” 

“ What !” cried I, now comprehending it all at once ; 
“ then it is no insanity with you ? and we have both 
made fools of ourselves indeed !” 

“ Exactly ; so give me your hand on it, my old 
chum 1” 

Instantly my hand was locked in that of my friend ; 
and then such a shout of merriment as we both set up, 
at the ridiculousness of the whole affair, I venture to say 
was never heard in that part of the country before nor 
since. 


A LUDICROUS MISTAKE. 


73 


“So, then,” resumed I, “the secret is out, and we 
have both acknowledged to being deeply in love! Really, 
dear Charley, I feel under great obligations to you for 
that meditated sacrifice — more especially, as the lady in 
question is thousands of miles away, is entirely unknown 
to either of us, and will probably never be seen again by 
either Charles Huntly or Francis Leighton.” 

“Tut, tut, tut, Frank ! ‘No more of that, an’ thou 
lovest me,’ ” returned my friend, good humoredly. “I 
admit that I have acted the simpleton ; but, at the same 
time (and he gave me a comical look), I feel proud to say 
I have had most excellent company — Eh ! my dear fel- 
low ?” 

“ I acknowledge the corn.” 

“ But, touching my sister, Frank ?” 

“Well, what of her?” I said quickly, while I felt the 
blood rush to my face in a warm current. 

“ Did you not act hastily — too hastily — in that matter, 
my friend ?” 

“ 1 fear I did, and I have bitterly repented of it since. 
But I loved her so, Charley ; and you know my passion- 
ate nature could not brook a rival 1” 

“ A rival, Frank ? I never knew you had a rival.” 

“ What ! not know the elegant Mr. Wharton ?” 

“ Pah ! you did not take him for a rival, I hope !” 

“ Indeed I did ! Does he not visit your house fre- 
quently ?” 

“ Yes, and so do fifty others ; but I assure you dear 
Lilian will not marry them all.” 

“ But — but — I thought Wharton — a — a ” 

“ A fashionable gallant ? So he is.” 

“No — a — a — special suitor to your sister’s hand,” I 
stammered, concluding the sentence my friend had inter- 
rupted. 

“ Pshaw, Frank ! Why, Lilian would not look at 
him — other than to treat him respectfully, as she would 
any other visitor — much less marry him.” 

“ Then you think she does not love him ?” 

“ Love him ?” echoed Huntly, with a smile of con- 
tempt, and an expressive shrug of his shoulders. “ No ! 
Lilian Huntly loves but one.” 

4 


74 


A LUDICROUS MISTAKE, 


** And who is he ?” 

“ One certain hot-headed youth, ycleped Francis 
Leighton.” 

“ Are you sure of this, Charles ?” and I caught the 
hand of my friend and fastened my eye steadily upon 
his. 

‘*I will stake my life on it ! and had you been pos- 
sessed of your usual good sense that night you must 
have seen it !” 

I released the hand I had clasped in mine, and stag- 
gered back as if struck a violent blow. My brain grew 
dizzy, my hands trembled, and it was with difficulty 1 
could keep myself upon my feet. Instantly the arm of 
my friend supported me, and he said, hurriedly: 

“ Good heavens ! what have I done ? Frank — Frank 
— take this not so hard ! — it will all be right in the end. 
Lilian and you were made for each other, I see ; and this 
separation will only serve to knit more closely the tie of 
affection between you when again you meet.” 

I replied not ; I could not ; but I gave vent to a 
groan that seemed to issue from my very soul. 

‘‘ Is it there ye is, your honors ?” said the voice of 
Teddy at this moment. “ Faith, now. I’ve been lookin’ 
for yees wid my two eyes and ears this long while, to ax 
ye, would yees have your breakfast cooked, or be afther 
takin’ it raw ?” 

“ Cooked, you fool !” cried Huntly, angrily. 

“Thin all I have to say is, it’s waitin’, your honors, 
and done beauthifully, by the chief cook and buthler, 
Teddy O’Lagherty, barring that he’s no cook at ail, at 
all, worth mintion, and divil a bit o’ a buthler is in him 
now. And what’s more. I’m to till ye that the Misther 
Trapphers is jist gitting ready to lave the whereabouts, 
and they sez, be yees going wid ’em they’ll be axing yees 
to travel !” 

“ Sure enough,” said Huntly, looking down toward 
the camp, “ they are preparing to leave in earnest. So 
come, Frank !” and taking my arm in his we descended 
the hill together in silence 


THE JOURNEY, 


75 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE JOURNEY AND INDIAN SIGN. 

Y the time we had joined the trappers the sun 
had already risen and was streaming his 
golden light over the broad prairie with a 
beautiful effect. 

Hastily partaking of our breakfast, and 
watering our animals at a small creek, which ran bub- 
bling around the base of the little knoll so often men- 
tioned, we prepared to raise our camp, as packing up to 
leave is termed by the mountaineers. Placing our sad- 
dles, possibles and other things on our horses and mules, 
we mounted and took a northern course over the prairie. 

As we passed along we saw a few deer away in the 
distance, and occasionally caught sight of a buffalo ; 
while animals of various kinds and sizes appeared here 
and there, sporting in the glorious sunbeams and seek- 
ing their daily fare, both single and in numbers. How- 
ever, as we had plenty of meat laid in for the present, 
we did not trouble them, but kept quietly along upon 
our course — Black George taking the lead as guide, and 
the rest of us following him in Indian file. 

A little past noon we came, to a small creek which 
flows into the Blue Earth River, or Big Blue, as I heard 
it called by the mountain men ; and here we paused 
again to water our animals, and allow them a few min- 
utes to crop the luxuriant grass beneath their feet. 

‘‘ Thar’s time enough, boys, I’m thinkin’,” said Black 
George ; “ so what’s the use o’ hurryin’? S’pect we 
wouldn’t live no longer for’t ; and jest to tell the fact. 
I’m in no partikelar drive to quit this warm sunshine 
for the clouds and snow and ice o’ the mountains. Eh ! 
Ned ? Augh !” 

“ Don’t know’s the mountains ’ll be any better for 
our waitin’,” grumbled Ned; “ and as long’s we’ve got 
to go, what’s the use o’ our throwin’ away time here 1” 



76 


THE JOURNEY. 


“ Augh !” grunted the old trapper ; “ you’re al’ays in 
a haste, boy ; and some day you’ll git rubbed out in 
a haste, or I’m no beaver. Come, what say you., Tom ? 
You haint opened your face sence you bolted that meat 
— leastways to my knowin’.” 

“ I don’t care a chawr which — stay or go — suit your- 
selves,” answered Daring Tom, sententiously. 

“ Wall, boys,” rejoined the old mountaineer, we’ll 
hold our wind about a quarter and then travel.” 

Saying this he dismounted from his mule, drew his 
pipe from a little holder suspended round liis neck, and, 
squatting upon the ground, deliberately filled and 
ignited it, by means of punk, flint and steel, and com- 
menced puffing away, as indifferent to everything or 
person ‘ground him as if he had been paid expressly to 
pass his life in this manner. 

Fiery Ned, however, was not pleased ; and, ripping 
out a few oaths, on what he termed the “ blamed laziness 
of the thing,” he jerked up his mules and set forward — 
followed by Rash Will only — Daring Tom and ourselves 
remaining with Black George. 

The last-mentioned puffed away quietly until the fore- 
most party had disappeared ; when, taking his pipe from 
his mouth, blowing out a large volume of smoke, and 
watching it as it curled round and round on its ascent, 
he turned to me with a comical look, and, shrugging his 
shoulders and winking his eye, observed : 

“They’ll not live no longer for’t, boss — I’ll be dog- 
gone ef they will !” 

With this he drew his legs a little more under him, 
and resumed his pipe with the stoical gravity of a Dutch- 
man. 

The spot where we were now halted was one of rare 
beauty. It was a little valley, nearly surrounded by hills 
in the shape of a horse-shoe, along the base of which, like 
a silver wire, w’ound the little murmuring rivulet, its 
waters sparkling in the sunshine, becoming glassy in the 
shade, and mirroring the steeps above it, as itgayly took 
its way to unite with the larger waters of the Blue. Above 
us, on three sides, rose the horse-shoe ridge, partially 
bare with frowning rocks, and partially covered with a 


THE JOURNEY. 


77 


dwarfish growth of various kinds of wood. The valley, 
or bottom, was a rich alluvion, carpeted with fresh, sweet 
grass — which our animals cropped eagerly — and with 
various kinds of wild flowers ; while hundreds of gay- 
plumed birds were hovering over our heads, or skim- 
ming along the surface, and thus checkering and enliv- 
ening the scene with their presence, and filling the air 
and our ears with the melody of their voices. The point 
of the valley not belted with the hills, looked out upon a 
prairie, which stretched away to the west and south, its 
half-grown grass waving in the breeze and resembling 
the light ripples of some beautiful lake. 

“ What a lovely scene !” said Huntly, turning to me, 
as, dismounted, we both stood gazing upon it. 

“ A little Paradise that I have never seen surpassed !” 
was my answer. 

“ Yes, but everything beautiful hereabouts gits spylt 
to them as knows it a few,” chimed in the old hunter, 
blowing the smoke deliberately from his mouth. “ Now 
I’ve no doubt this place looks purty to you ; but I’ve seen 
blood run hereaways — augh !” 

“ Indeed !” I exclaimed, advancing to the old trapper, 
as did each of the others, with the exception of Tom, 
who, having squatted himself at some little distance and 
lit his pipe, seemed wholly absorbed with thoughts of 
his own. “ Then there has been fighting here in days 
gone by ?” I pursued. 

“Wall, thar has, boss!” was the response. “Ye see 
that ar creek, don’t ye ?” pointing to it with the stem of 
his pipe. 

“ Ay.” 

“ Wall, it looks purty enough to them as don’t know 
— but this coon’s seen them waters red afore now.” 

“ Tell us the tale !” said Huntly. 

“Why, it’s long, Bosson, and we haint got time to 
throw away — so I’il hev to let it slide. I’m thinkin’. How- 
somever, I’ll gin ye the gist on’t, and I s’pose that’ll do 
as wall. That creek you see yonder’s bin called Cotton’s 
Creek ever sence that time ; and the reason on’t is, case 
a powerful good chap, called Jim Cotton, or Snake Eye, 
got rubbed out thar by the cussed Pawnees. Me and 


78 


THE JOURNEY, 


-him, and Jake Strader, and Sigh Davis, had been down 
to St. Louey, and sold our beavers to the Nor- Westers * — 
(and them was the days when they fetched somethin’ — 
five dollar a plew,f old or young uns, instead o’ a dollar 
a pound— augh !) — and coming out to Independence with 
the rocks in our pockets, we got on a rigelar spree, and 
spent a few — but not all — and a infernal Greaser J some- 
how gittin’ wind on’t, and findin’ out jest which w’ay we’s 
a-goin’, put out ahead, and got some five or six Pawnees 
to jine him, and come down here to waylay us. 

“ Wall, in course we wasn’t thinkin’ o’ nothin’ dan- 
gerous, case our bottles warn’t all emptied and we felt 
happy enough. Jest down here we stopped to water 
and rest, like we’re doin’ now, when all at once that ar 
bush you see yonder, near the bank, let out seven bullets 
right amongst us. Jim Cotton was thro wed cold, and 
never kicked arter, poor feller ! Jake Strader got his 
arm broke. Sigh Davis a ball through his shoulder, and 
me one right into my calf. Then thinkin’ they’d throwed 
the majority, the oudacious skunks come tearin’ and 
yellin’ like sin, old Greaser on the lead. A part broke 
for us, and the rest for our animals, so as ef they didn’t 
count a coup they could put us afoot. 

“ ‘ Heyars ha’r and a chance for dry powder — gin ’em 
blazes !’ sez 1; and I ups with old Sweetlove and throwed 
old Greaser cold, right in his tracks — so cold he never 
kiiowed what made meat of him. Greaser didn’t. 

“ Wall, jest as mine went, I heerd two more pops, 
and blow me for a liar ef two more of the durned ras- 
cals didn’t drap purty ! How they’d done it — partikerly 
Jake Strader with his broken arm— got me all of a heap; 
but done it they had, sartin as winkin’ ; and thar the 
varmints lay, a-kickin’ like durnation. Now thar was 
only four left ; and grabbin’ Jim Cotton’s rifle, afore 
they knowed what I was about, I laid another han’some. 
Now we was even, and I hollered to the skunks to come 
on and show fa’r fight, and I’d eyther lick the three or 
gin ’em my sculp. But they hadn’t no notion o’ tryin’ 

* Hudson Bay Company is sometimes so called by the trappers, 
f A whole skin. f Spaniard or Mexican. 


THE JOURNEY. 


79 


on’t, the cowards ! but turned and split as ef the arth 
was a-goin’ to swaller ’em. 

Hurraw for us beavers !’ I sez ; ‘and let us go a 
ha’r-raisin’ and with that I takes my butcher and 
walks into the varmints ; and them as wasn’t dead I 
carved ; and arter I'd done, me and Sigh — for Jake 
couldn’t work wall — we hove the meat into the water, 
and called it Cotton’s Creek. Then we dug a hole, nigh 
'bout whar you’re standing, put in poor Jim, kivered 
him over, and, jest as we was, all wownded, we mounted 
our critters and put out.” 

“And do ye think there is, maybe, iny of the likes of 
thim rid divils about here now, sure, Misther Trapper 
George?” inquired Teddy, with an uneasy look. 

“ Shouldn’t wonder, boss ; for we’re a-goin’ right to- 
ward ’em.” 

“ Faith, thin,” said Teddy, turning slightly pale, 
“maybe it’s the wrong road ye’re going now ?” 

“ Oh, ye needn’t fear I’ll miss the track !” answered 
the old hunter, who put a literal construction on the 
Irishman’s words. “ I knows the ground as wall as you 
knows your own daddy.” 

“ Agh ! and well ye may, Misther George, and have 
little to brag on the whiles, jist !” rejoined the other 
quickly. “ But what I maan is, it’s maybe, if we take 
anither way, we’ll not rin among the divils, and git made 
maat on, as ye calls it, now ?” 

“Why, Teddy,” said I, “you are not becoming 
alarmed at this stage of the journey, I hope?” 

“ Och, no ! its not alar-r-med mesilf is gittin’ at all, 
at all, barring a little fright maybe I has for your honor’s 
safety.” 

“ Oh, never mind me, Teddy,” I replied. “ I assure 
you I am doing very well, and prepared myself to run 
all hazards before I came here.” 

“ Well,” observed Huntly, “ I think we had better set 
forward again and select our camp early.” 

“ That’s a fact !” cried Black George, springing to his 
feet, with the agility of a youth of twenty: “ You is 
right, boy — right ! Come, Tom, we’s a-goin’ to put 
and he turned toward his saddle mule. Hey ! whatV 


8o 


THE JOURNEY. 


he exclaimed suddenly, with a stress upon the words 
that instantly brought us all around him, eager to learn 
the cause. 

But nothing could we discover, save that the old mule 
alluded to was snuffing the air, with her ears bent for- 
ward and pointing steadily in one direction. Two 
or three words, however, from the old trapper, sufficed 
to enlighten and alarm us at the same time. 

“ Injins, boys — rifles ready — Suke’s no liar!” Then 
turning to Tom, who had also started to his feet on hear- 
ing the first exclamation of Black George, he adcfed : 
“ Split for kiver, Tom, an’ hunt for sign !” 

Scarcely was the sentence out of the old man’s mouth, 
ere Tom was out of sight ; for, understanding all at 
a glance, he turned at the first word, and, leaping across 
the stream, suddenly disappeared in a thicket on the 
other side. 

I felt rather strangely, I must own, for it was the first 
time that danger had become apparent to me ; and this 
being concealed, I knew not what to expect, and of 
course magnified it considerably. Besides, the story I 
had just heard, together with the quick and decisive 
movements of the trappers, led me to anticipate a sudden 
onset from a large body of Indians. 

Determined to sell my life dearly, I grasped my rifle 
with one hand, and loosened my pistols and knife with 
the other. 

I cast a quick glance at Huntly, and saw that he was 
also prepared for the worst. His features had paled a 
little, his brow was slightly wrinkled, and his lips com- 
pressed, showing a stern resolve. 

But the Irishman, in spite of my fears, amused me. 
Instead of bringing up his rifle ready for an aim, Teddy 
had gripped it midway, and was whirling it over his head 
as he would a shillalah, the while raising one foot and 
then the other in great excitement, as if treading on live 
coals, his face flushed, his eyes fixed in one direction, liis 
nostrils expanded, and his breast heaving with hard 
breathing. 

“ yuick !” exclaimed Black George; “fotch ’round 
the animals and make a breastwork to kiver.” 


THE JOURNEY. 


8i 


Instantly Iluntly and I sprung to our horses, and the 
old trapper to his mules ; while the Irishman, heeding 
nothing that was said, still continued his laborious gyra- 
tions. 

In less than a minute the animals were arranged in 
our front, and we were re-priming our fire-weapons, 
already prepared to repel the attack manfully, should 
one be made. 

A minute of silence succeeded, when Black George 
called out to Teddy : 

“ D’ye want to be made meat on, you thunderin’ fool ! 
that you stand thar like a monkey target?” 

But the Hibernian either did not hear, or, hearing, did 
not heed. 

“ Teddy !” I shouted. 

“Here, your honor!” answered Teddy, running up 
and crawling under my horse — he having been standing 
outside of our animal breast-work. 

“ What were you doing out there, Teddy ?” 

“ Troth, I was gitting my hand in jist I” 

^ Yes, and you moughthev got a bullet into your meat- 
bag 1” rejoined the old trapper, dryly. 

“Ah!” said Teddy, dolefully; “if ye’ll belave me 
now, it’s that same doings that worries mesilf the most in 
this kind of fighting. Barring the shooting alnd the dan- 
ger attinding it, it’s me mother’s son as wouldn’t mind 
fighting at all, at all.” 

“ There are a great many such heroes in the world,” 
I rejoined, with a smile ; “and most men are brave when 
there is no danger. But I’ll exonerate you from being 
a coward, Teddy, for you once nobly saved my life ; but, 
at the same time, I think I shall have to give you a few 
lessons when this affair is over, so that you will be able 
to act becomingly under like circumstances and know 
the proper use of your rifle.” 

“ Hist !” said Black George at this moment. 

All became a dead silence. Presently the faint caw- 
ing of a distant crow was heard in the woods nearest 
to us. 

“ Injin sign, but no sudden dash,” observed the old 
trapper again. 

4 * 


82 


THE JOURNEY. 


“ Indeed !” I exclaimed, in surprise ; “ and pray how 
came you by your information ?” 

“Jest as easy as you kin look at pot-hooks and tell 
what they sez,” answered the mountaineer. “ You know 
how to read a heap in books ; I know how to read the 
signs o’ nater; and both is good in thar places. You 
heerd that crow, I’m thinkin’ ?” 

“I did.” 

“ Wall, that was Darin’ Tom, speakin’ to me and tellin* 
me what I told you.” 

Ere I had time to express my surprise, the person in 
question made his appearance, leaping nimbly across the 
little creek and gliding up to us as silently as an In- 
dian. 

“ What’s the sign ?” asked Black George. 

“Pawnees,” was the answer. 

“ How’d they number? and which way?” 

“Twenty odd, and toward the sothe.” 

“Arterha’r?” 

“ I reckon.” 

“ Be apt to trouble us ?” 

“ Think they passed with their eyes shut.” 

“Playin’ possum mayhap. How long gone?’* 

“ Less nor a quarter.” 

“Then Suke must have smelt ’em. She’s a knowin* 
one, is Suke, and don’t fool her time. S’pectwe’d better 
put out and look for camp ?” 

“I reckon.” 

“ Augh !” 

Although this kind of dialogue was new to me, I nev- 
ertheless was able to understand that a body of Pawnees 
had passed us, and were either not aware of our proxim- 
ity, or did not care to make an attack upon us in broad 
daylight. 

As the mountaineers concluded, they instantly 
mounted their mules and set foward ; and, springing 
upon our horses, we kept them company. 

As we left the little cove — if I may so term it — by way 
of the prairie, we were surprised to meet Fiery Ned and 
Rash Will on their return to join us. 

“Wall?” said Black George interrogatively. 


THE JOURNEY. 




“Injins !” returned Rash Will. 

“ Ahead or ahind ?” 

“Moccasins to the sothe.” 

“ We’ve seed ’em — augh !” 

No more was said ; but, wheeling then* animals, the 
two mountaineers silentl}*- joined the others and we all 
moved forward together. 

The country over which we were now passing was 
exceedingly beautiful and picturesque. Alternately well- 
timbered bottoms — steep, craggy, barren bluffs — open, 
rolling prairies — met our view; while sparkling little 
streams, winding around in every direction, appeared like 
silver threads fastening the whole together. 

On our way hither we had passed through Independ- 
ence, one of the most important points in Missouri for 
obtaining an outfit, and, taking much the same route as 
that since followed by Oregon emigrants, had crossed 
the Caw or Kansas River a day or two previous to our 
camp on the prairie, of which I have given a descrip- 
tion. 

Although this, as I then said, was our first camp on 
the prairie, I wish the reader to distinctly understand 
it was not our first encampment beyond the boundaries 
of civilization. But as I did not care to trouble him with 
a tedious journey, which produced no important in- 
cident, I jumped over our progress to the time when I 
felt our adventures had really begun. I say this in ex- 
planation, lest, having traveled the route himself, he 
might be puzzled to understand how, in so short a time 
from the raising of our camp, we could have become so 
far advanced. 

It was now late in June, and the sun poured down his 
heat with great intensity, so that our animals perspired 
freely, and seemed far more inclined to linger in the 
shade, when we passed a timbered spot, than to hurry 
forward in the open sunshine. Nevertheless we managed, 
before the sun sunk to rest, to put a good thirty miles 
between us and our camp of the previous evening. 

Reaching at last a smooth, pleasant spot, belted with 
hills, not unlike the one of our noonday halt, and through 
which likewise murmured and sparkled a little rivulet, 


84 


THE JOURNEY. 


we paused and decided to camp at once. In a few min- 
utes our animals were hoppled, and regaling themselves 
with great gusto upon the sweet, green grass which here 
grew exuberantly. 

^‘Somebody’ll hev to stand watch to-night,” observed 
Black George, as we seated ourselves around the fire, 
which had been kindled for the purpose of toasting our 
meat and keeping off the wild beasts. “ Who’s a-goin’ to 
claim the chance ?” 

No one answered ; but the other trappers all looked 
towards Huntly and myself, which I was not slow to 
understand. 

“ Do you think there is any danger to-night ?” I in- 
quired. 

“ Thar’s never a time in this part of the world when 
thar isn’t, stranger !” was the answer. 

“ But do you apprehend an attack from the savages 
to-night ?” 

“ Can’t tell for sartin what may hap ; but you know 
what happ’d to-day, and thar’s sign about as cl’ar as day- 
light.” 

“Well, if you think I will answer the purpose, I am 
ready to volunteer my services.” 

The old trapper mused a moment, shook his head, and 
replied : 

“I’m afeard not. I’ll keep guard myself; for you’re 
young and purty green, and mightn’t know a Injin from 
a tree ; and it’s like thar’ll be powder burnt afore morn- 
ing.” 

Although these words portended danger, yet so fa- 
tigued was I, from my day’s travel, that in less than two 
hours from the time they were spoken, in common with 
the rest (Black George alone excepted), I was sound 
asleep. 


THE NIGHT ATTACK. 


85 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE NIGHT ATTACK. 

WAS once more in my native land. Time had 
flown rapidly, years had rolled onward, thou- 
sands on thousands of miles had been gone 
over, and now I again stood in the city of my 
nativity. 

Strange and powerful emotions stirred me. I was 
wending my way through the old and well-remembered 
streets to the home of one who had been daily and nightly 
in my thoughts during my long absence. I already pic- 
tured myself entering her abode, and the start and thrill 
of joyful surprise, on her beholding me again. 

At length I reached the well-known mansion. There 
it stood, just as I had left it. There were the same steps 
I had ascended, and the bell I had rung, on the night 
when I had so abruptly and cruelly torn myself from her 
sweet presence. I felt a nervous tremor run through my 
whole system. I could scarcely stand. My heart seemed 
to shrink into nothing, my blood began to curdle in my 
veins, and my quaking limbs refused to do my bidding.' 
There I stood, shaking like an aspen leaf, afraid to go 
forward, unwilling to retreat. 

At length, by a great effort, I grew more calm. With 
a fresh determination not to be conquered by myself, I 
rushed up the steps and rang the bell. 

A servant appeared. 

But he was not the one I expected to behold ; not 
the one who had answered my former summons ; his face 
was new to me. This was a change, it is true, and pro- 
duced some very unpleasant feelings ; but this was a 
common one, and nothing to alarm me. 

“Is Miss Huntly at home?” I inquired. 

“ Miss Huntly don’t live here, sir.” 

“ What !” cried I, gasping for breath ; “ not live 
here?” 



86 


THE NIGHT ATTACH. 


No, sir ! this is Mr. Wharton’s house.” 

“ Wharton ! Yes — well— he— he — is — married ?” 

“Yes, sir — he’s married.” 

“ Whom did he marry ?” 

“ Don’t know, sir.” 

“ Was it — a — Lilian Huntly ?” 

“No, indeed — I guess it wasn’t ! He wouldn’t look 
at her, I know !” 

“ Not look at her, villain ! why not ?” cried I ; and, 
excited beyond reason, I seized my informant by the 
collar. “ Why would he not look at her, wretch ?” I 
repeated, hoarsely. “ Tell me quickly ! or I will dash 
your brains out at my feet !” 

“ Ca-cause she’s poor !” was the trembling reply. 

“ Poor ?” I almost shouted. 

“ Ye-yes, sir !” 

“ And where is she to be found ?” 

“ Just round that alley yonder — first door to the 
left.” 

I followed with my eyes the direction indicated by 
the finger of my informant, and the next moment found 
the door slammed in my face. 

But for this I cared not. Lilian was in trouble. 

With one bound I cleared the steps, and, darting down 
the street, turned the corner of the alley and stood before 
a miserable, wooden house. 

“Gracious heavens!” I cried, mentally; “the home 
of Lilian — dear Lilian !” and the next moment, without 
pausing to knock, I burst open the door, and entered a 
miserable apartment, scantily furnished. 

The first object that fixed my attention was sweet 
Lilian herself : but, oh I how altered ! how pale ! how 
wo-begone her look ! Her dress and appearan':e bespoke 
poverty and sullering and chilled my blood. 

“ Lilian !” I cried, rushing toward her with out- 
stretched arms. 

She rose — stared at me — a frightful expression swept 
over her pale, grief-worn, but still lovely features — she 
struggled forward — gasped — and, uttering my name, 
with a terrible shriek, sunk senseless into my arms. 

At this moment the door was burst rudely open ; and 


THE NIGHT ATTACK, 


87 

Wharton, with eyes gleaming fire, pistol in hand, rushed 
into the apartment. 

Ere I had time for thought, the pistol flashed, the re- 
port rang in my ears, and the ball buried itself in the 
head of my beloved Lilian. 

With a shriek of horror I dropped her lifeless body, 
and — awoke. 

I looked up and saw Huntly bending over me, heard 
a confused noise, the discharge of fire-arms, and, rising 
above all the din, the yells of savages. 

“Awake, Frank ! — up, for God's sake! — we are at- 
tacked !” cried Huntly. 

Instantly I sprung to my feet, completely bewildered. 

“ Tree ! tree ! or you’re a dead beaver !” shouted a voice 
behind me. 

I turned around, but was still too much confused to 
understand what was meant. 

The next moment Huntly seized me by the arm, hur- 
riedly dragged me to a neighboring tree, and thrust me 
behind it on the side farthest from the fire. 

I had cause to be thankful for this ; for, as I moved 
from the spot where I had stood, a ball whizzed past me, 
wliich, had it been sped a second sooner, would doubtless 
have proved fatal. 

I now learned, from a few hurried words spoken by 
my friend, that the Indians — supposed to be Pawnees, 
and, in fact, the same party which had alarmed us at 
Cotton’s Creek — had made a sudden dash at our animals, 
which were picketed within pistol-shot of the fire, and, 
with loud yells, had discharged their pieces and arrows 
into our camp, fortunately without doing us any injury. 
In a moment every one had sprung to his feet, with the 
exception of myself, who, lost in the mazes of a trouble- 
some dream, had actually converted the screeches of the 
savages into cries from Lilian, and the report of fire-arms 
into the fatal shot from the pistol of one I had looked 
upon as a rival. Each of the trappers had hurriedly 
sought his tree, while the Irishman, though a good deal 
bewildered, had had the presence of mind and good sense 
to imitate their example. Huntly of course could not 


88 


THE NIGHT ATTACK. 


leave me to perish, and had paused to rouse me in the 
manner shown. 

By this time all had become silent as the grave. Our 
camp-fire was still burning brightly, and by its light we 
could trace a large circle round it ; but not an object, 
save our animals — some of which, particularly the mules, 
snuffed and snorted, and appeared very restless — was 
seen to stir. One would suppose, to have gazed around 
him on that warm, still night, that not a creature more 
dangerous than the fire-fly and mosquito was at hand to 
disturb the now seemingly deep and solemn solitude of 
the place. 

In this way some two or three minutes passed, during 
which you could have heard the fall of a leaf, when sud- 
denly the stillness was broken by the report of a rifle 
within twenty feet of me, and was succeeded by a yell of 
agony some thirty paces distant in another direction, 
while an Indian, whom I had not before observed, stag- 
gered forward and fell within the circle lighted by the 
fire. 

Now it was, as if the whole wilderness were full of 
demons, that the most terrific yells resounded on all sides ; 
and some fifteen or twenty savages, naked all but the 
breech-clout, hideously painted, were seen dodging among 
the scattering trees, making towards us, and discharging 
their muskets and bows at random. A bullet striking 
the stock of my rifle just above where my hand grasped 
it, splintering it, and sending some of the pieces into my 
face, angered me not a little, and I vowed revenge upon 
the first savage I could lay eyes on. 

“ Give the durned skunks thunder !” shouted a voice ; 
and ere the words were fairly uttered, some three or four 
rifles belched forth their deadly contents, and three more 
savages rolled howling in the dust. 

At this moment I discovered a powerful Indian mak- 
ing toward me, scarcely ten feet distant, his basilisk eyes 
fairly shining like two coals of fire ; and raising my rifle 
quick as lightning to my face, without even pausing to 
sight it, I lodged the contents in his body. He stag- 
gered back, partly turned to fly, reeled, and then with a 
howl of rage fell to the earth a corpse. 


THE NIGHT ATTACK. 


89 


The Indians of the Far West, of the present day, are 
not the Indians of former times, whose wigwams once 
rose where now stand our cities and hamlets, and whose 
daring in war, when led by a Philip, a Pontiac, or a 
Tecumseh, could only be excelled by their cunning and 
ferocity. No ! far from it. The present tribes have de- 
generated wonderfully. They are, take them as a whole, 
a dirty, cowardly, despicable set, without one noble trait, 
and not worth the powder it takes to kill them. They 
will attack you, it is true ; but then they must treble you 
in numbers ; and if they fail in killing, or completely 
overpowering, you at the onset, ten to one but they will 
beat a hasty retreat and leave you master of the field. 

Of such dastardly wretches was composed the party 
which had assailed us. Although vastly superior to us 
in numbers, they now seemed completely thunderstruck 
at the result of an attack which doubtless they had 
counted on as certain victory. Five of their party had 
already bitten the dust, and yet not one of us had been 
touched. Notwithstanding this, even, had they possessed 
one-half the courage and daring of their Eastern fore- 
fathers, they might to ail appearance have annihilated 
us. But, no ! they dared not longer fight for victory. 
Like frightened poltroons, as they were, they wavered 
for a moment, and then, as their last hope, made a rush 
for our animals, with the intention of seizing and mak- 
ing off with them, and thus leaving us to foot our long 
journey. But even in this they failed, through their own 
cowardice ; for, comprehending their intent, the trappers, 
with yells as savage as their own, sprung from their 
trees and bounded towards them,; whereupon they 
instantly abandoned their design, and again most inglo- 
riously fled. 

Two of our party, however. Fiery Ned and Rash 
Will, were far from being satisfied with even this victory. 
Maddened with rage and a desire for further- revenge, 
they actually set off in hot pursuit of the fugitives, and 
quickly disappeared from our view. For a time we could 
hear them shouting and yelling ; but gradually the 
sounds grew fainter and more faint, until at last nothing 
whatever could be distinguished. 


90 


THE NIGHT ATTACK. 


“ The infarnal skunks !” said Black George, stepping 
out from behind his tree, and giving vent to a quiet, 
inward laugh, peculiar to men of his profession. 
“ Reckon they’ll stay put a few, and not trouble us agin 
in a hurry and again he laughed as before. “ But 
what fools Ned and Will is ! They’re never content with 
a fa’r whip, but must al’ays be tryin’ to do a heap more ; 
and some day they’ll git thar ha’r raised, and go under 
with a vengeance, or I’m no sinner ! But I say, Tom ?” 

“ Wall, boss ?” 

“ Didn’t we throw ’em purty ?” 

“ Wall we did, old coon !” 

I’ll be dog-gone ef we didn’t ! Come, let’s lift thar 
ha’r — augh !” 

With this both trappers drew their knives, and, pro- 
ducing small sandstones, proceeded to sharpen them, 
with as much indiiference as if they were about to slice 
a buffalo instead of dip them in the blood of human be- 
ings. When done, their whetstones were carefully re- 
placed ; and then turning to me, who with Huntly and 
Teddy had meantime gathered around the two, the old 
mountaineer said : 

“ Boy, you’ve done so’thin’ for the fust time, and 
needn’t be ashamed on’t. Throwed him cold in his 
tracks. I’ll be dog-gone ef you didn’t !” and he nodded 
toward the Indian I had slain. “Wall, he’s your meat ; 
and so at him, and raise his top-knot afore he gits 
cold.” 

I shuddered at the bare thought of such barbarity, and 
involuntarily shrunk back. 

“Oh, then you’re a little squeamish, hey? Wall, I’ve 
heern tell o’ sich things afore ; but it won’t last long, 
Bosson, take my word for’t ! Ef you don’t raise ha’r 
afore you’re a thousand year older, jest call me a liar 
and stop off my bacca !” 

“No !” I replied, firmly ; “ I could never be brought 
to degrade myself by a custom which originated with, 
and, if it must still be practiced, should ever be confined 
to, the native savage ! I may kill an Indian in my own 
defense, but I cannot mutilate him when dead ! I was 
bred in a very different school,” 


THE NIGHT ATTACK. 


91 


“ Bread be durned !” returned Black George, not 
comprehending my meaning. “This here ain’t bread — 
it’s meat ; and as to skule, as you calls it, wliy that ar 
belongs to the settlements, and hain’t got nothin’ to do 
out hereaways in the woods ! Eh ! Tom ?” 

“ Wall it hain’t.” 

“ No, I’ll be rumfuzzled ef it has ! And so, stranger, 
ef you wants to show you’re smart a heap, you’ll jest lift 
that ar skunk’s ha’r and say no more about it ! Eh ! 
Tom ?” 

“ Fact !— augh !” 

“No,” I rejoined, in a decisive tone, “I will have 
nothing to do with it ! If you choose to scalp the Indian, 
that is no business of mine ; but I will not so degrade 
myself !” 

“ Wall, ef your mind’s made up, in course it’s no use 
o’ talking ; and so, Tom, let’s begin to slice.” 

At this moment we heard the report of a distant rifle, 
quickly followed by another. 

“ Them boys is eyther throwed now, or else some 
In jins has got rubbed out,” observed Black George, in- 
differently. “ Come, Tom — let’s lift !” 

Saying this, the old trapper and his companion set 
about their bloody work. The first Indian they came to 
was not dead ; and running his knife into his heart, with 
a barbarous coolness that made me shudder. Black 
George observed : 

“ That’s your meat, Tom.” 

He then passed on, leaving the latter to finish the 
bloody task. Bending over the now dead savage, and 
seizing him by the hair of the head — which, instead of a 
long lock or cue, as worn by some tribes, was short and 
ridged, like the comb of a fowl — Daring Tom ran his 
knife round the skull bone with a scientific flourish, 
tore off the scalp, and, knocking it on the ground, to free 
it as much as possible from gouts of blood, coolly at- 
tached it to his girdle and proceeded to the next. 

“ What a horrid custoni !” I exclaimed, turning to 
Huntly. 

“ It is, truly !” he replied. “ But then, you know, 
Frank, it is one that belongs to the Indian and mountain- 


92 


THE NIGHT ATTACK. 


eer ; and as we have come among them voluntarily, we 
have no right of course to quarrel with them for it.” 

“ Be jabers !” cried Teddy ; “ is it murthering the 
Injins twice they is, now, your honors ?” 

“ It would seem so,” replied Huntly, with a smile. 

“ Faith, your honor, and it’s mesilf as thinks they 
naad it, sure, the blathering spalpeens, to be coming 
round us paceable citizens wid their nonsense, and 
cuthing our throats ! Och ! if I’d knowed how to lit 
off this bothersome article, (holding up his rifle), I’d a 
killed a dozen o’ the baastly crathurs, so I would !” 

“ Why, Teddy,” I rejoined, “ I thought you knew how 
to shoot a rifle ! at least you told us so.” 

Teddy scratched his head, and put on a very comical 
look, as he replied : 

“Yes, but ye sae, your honor, it was an Irish rifle I 
was spaking of, barring that it wasn’t made in Ireland at 
all, at all, but in France, jist.” 

“But I thought they did not allow you to use rifles 
in Ireland, Teddy ?” 

“No more they don’t; but thin, ye sae, it isn’t sich 
murthering things as this now they uses.” 

“ What then ?” 

“Why, I most forgit mesilf,” returned the Irishman, 
with a perplexed look, again scratching his head. “ Och ! 
now I come to think on’t, I belave it shot wid a long 
stick ; and that it wasn’t mesilf as shot it at all, at all, but 
me mother’s father that knowed sich things — pace to his 
ashes !” 

“ Teddy,” I rejoined, assuming a serious tone, which 
I was very far from feeling, “ it is evident that this is the 
first rifle you ever laid hands on, and tliat the story you 
told us on the boat, about your exploits in shooting, was 
without the least foundation whatever.” 

“ Ah, troth, it’s like it may be !” answered the Hiber- 
nian, penitently, with a sigh ; “ it’s like it may be, your 
honor; for divil a thing else can me make out of it. But, 
ye sae, ye questioned me close now ; and I’s afeard, that, 
didn’t I have the qualifications ye axed. I’d not be naaded ; 
and as I saan ye was raal gintlemen, and no blathers of 
spalpeens, it was going wid yoursel’s Teddy O’Lagherty 


THE NIGHT ATTACK, 


93 


was afther doing, if he told a story, jist — for which the 
Lord forgive me !” 

“ Well, well, Teddy, never mind,” I said, smiling ; “ I 
will show you the use of the rifle the first convenient op- 
portunity ; and so let what is past be forgotten.” 

“ Ah !” cried the grateful Irishman, doffing his beaver 
and making a low bow ; “ I knowed ye was gintlemen, 
your honors, every inch of yees, and wouldn’t be hard 
upon a poor forlorner like mesilf !” 

“ Hark !” exclaimed Huntly ; “ listen !” and at the 
moment we heard the gloomy howl of a pack of wolves. 

“They already smell the feast prepared for tliem, ” I 
rejoined. 

“Well, Frank, let us return to our camp-fire, for I see 
the trappers have nearly completed their unenviable 
task.” 

Acting upon his suggestion, we set forward, and, gain- 
ing the fire, were soon joined by Black George and Dar- 
ing Tom, who came up with five bloody scalps dangling at 
their girdles — bringing with them also some two or three 
rifles, a fresh supply of powder and ball, and various other 
trifles which they had taken from the dead Indians. 

“ I think we can count a coup this heat !” observed 
the old mountaineer, with his peculiar, quiet laugh ; 
“ eh ! Tom ?” 

“ We can’t do nothin’ else !” was the satisfactory 
response. 

“ I say, Tom, them wolves smell blood !” 

“ Wall, they does !” 

“ Thar’s plenty o’ meat for ’em, any how ; and ef 
they’ll jest foller us, and them skunks of Pawnees want 
to try this here over agin, we’ll make ’em fat ! Eh ! 
Tom ?” 

“ Will so-o !” 

“Yes, I’ll be dog-gone ef we don’t ! But I say, Tom 
— ain’t it most time for Rash and Fire to be in ?” 

“ I reckon !” 

“ Hope they didn’t git throwed ! It ’ud be a pity to 
hev them go under jest now — and would spile all our 
sport.” 

“ Wall, it would, boss !” 


94 


THE NIGHT ATTACK. 


“ Hark ! thar goes a whistle ! That’s them, or I’m a 
bull-head !” 

“ ’Taint nobody else !” responded Daring Tom. j 

“All right. Augh ! Let’s smoke !” 

Squatting themselves on the ground, cross-legged, 
the trappers filled their pipes, and commenced puffing 
away as though nothing had happened to disturb their 
equanimity. 

Such perfect recklessness of life, such indifference to 
danger, I had never seen displayed before ; and though I 
abhorred some of their customs, I could not but admire 
their coolness and valor. 

Their sense of hearing, I soon discovered, was far 
more acute than mine ; for when the old trapper spoke 
of the whistle of his comrades, I could not, for the life of 
me, detect a distant sound proceeding from human lips. 
But that he was right was soon evident ; for in less than 
five minutes after. Fiery Ned and Rash Will made their 
appearance ; and quietly stealing up to the circle, they 
threw themselves upon the ground, without a remark. 

At the belt of each hung a fresh scalp, showing that 
two more of the enemy had become their victims. 

For some time the two smoked away in silence ; and 
then suggesting to the others the propriety of joining 
them, all four were soon in full blast. After a little, 
they began to talk over their exploits ; and amusing 
themselves in this way for an hour or more, one after 
another straightened himself out on the earth, an exam- 
ple whicli Teddy soon imitated, and in five minutes all 
were lost in sleep. 

As for Iluntly and myself, slumber had fled our eye- 
lids ; and, stirring up the fire, we seated ourselves at a 
little distance and talked till daylight — I narrating my 
singular dream, and both commenting upon it. 

All night long we heard the howling of the ravenous 
wolves, as they tore the flesh from the bones of our dead 
foes, and we occasionally caught a gleam of their fiery 
eye-balls when they ventured nearer than usual to our 
camp. 


THE THUNDER-STORM. 


95 


CHAPTER X. 

THE THUNDER-STORM. 

T an early in the morning we resumed our 
journey. 

As we moved along, I beheld the bones of 
two of our late foes, basking white and 
ghastly in the sunlight, their clean-licked, 
shiny skulls, hollow sockets, and grinning teeth and 
jaws, fairly making my flesh creep. 

And the more so when I took into consideration that 
only a few hours before these same bones belonged to 
animated human beings, and that a mere turn of the 
wheel of fate might have placed me in their position and 
they in mine. 

Death is a solemn thing to contemplate at any time, 
and I was now in a mood to feel its gloom in an un- 
usual degree. My dream, although I tried to dispel it 
as only a dream, still made a deep impression upon my 
mind ; and this, together with what had subsequently 
occurred, and the remembrance of the conversation I had 
held with my friend the morning previous, touching 
Lilian, all tended to depress my spirits and make me 
melancholy. 

At length, to rouse me from my sinking stupor, I 
turned my eyes upon Huntly ; but perceiving that he too 
was deep in thought, I did not disturb his reverie ; while 
my own mind, settling back into itself, if I may be per- 
mitted the expression, wandered far away to the past, re- 
called a thousand old scenes, and then leaped forward to 
the future and became perplexed in conjectures regard- 
ing my final fate. 

About noon we reached the banks of the Blue River, 
and, as on the preceding day, halted a few minutes to 
rest and refresh ourselves and animals. 

Here I noticed trees of oak, ash, walnut and hickory, 
with occasionally one of cottonwood and willow. 



96 


THE THUNDER-STORM. 


The bottoms of this stream are often wide and fertile, on 
which the wdld pea vine grows in abundance. The pea 
itself is somewhat smaller than that grown in the settle- 
ments, and can be used as an esculent, its flavor being 
agreeable. 

As our meat was now running short. Daring Tom 
observed that he would “make so’thin’ come and, set- 
ting forth with his rifle, soon returned heavily laden with 
wild turkeys. 

Hastily dressing these, we threw them into our pos- 
sible-sacks and again set forward. 

Traveling some fifteen miles through woodland and 
over prairie, we encamped at last in a beautiful little grove 
of ash and hickory, on the margin of a creek that flowed 
into the Blue. 

The day had been excessively hot and sultry, and all 
of us were much fatigued. 

Starting a fire, as usual, we cooked some of our tur- 
key meat, and found it very delicious. 

As no Indian sign had been discovered through the 
day, it was thought unnecessary to set a guard. We ac- 
cordingly all stretched ourselves upon the earth around 
the fire, and, in a few minutes, with the exception of my- 
self, all were sound asleep. 

I could not rest. I tried to, but in vain. The air was 
filled with mosquitoes, and various other insects, attracted 
hither by the fire-light, and they annoyed me exceed- 
ingly. This was not all. My mind, as in fact it had 
been throughout the day, was sorely depressed. A 
thousand thoughts, that I vainly strove to banish, ob- 
truded themselves upon me. In spite of myself, I 
thought of my dream. Pshaw ! why should that trouble 
me? It could not be true, I knew ; and was only caused 
by the previous remarks of Huntly, m}’- excited feelings, 
and surrounding circumstances. Still it came up in my 
mind, as startlingly as I had dreamed it, and, in spite of 
my scoffings, with every appearance of reality. I was 
not naturally superstitious, and did not believe in 
dreams — but this one haunted me as a foreboding of 
evil to her I loved ; and as I lay and meditated, I "half 


THE THUNDER-STORM, 97J 

formed the resolution of setting out in the morning upon' 
my return, already sick of my undertaking. 

It is one thing to read of adventures in others, and 
another to experience them ourselves, and this I now felt 
very keenly. To strengthen my resolution to return, I 
pictured the home of my parents, the sadness which I 
knew must be preying upon them on account of my ab- 
sence, and the flash of joy that would light up their faces 
and warm their hearts on beholding their only son once 
more seated at their fireside, never to depart again while 
he or they were blessed with life. I thought over all 
this, and grew stronger in my new resolve ; and had it 
not been for the whimsical fear of ridicule — the idle jest 
of some foppish fool, for whose opinion or regard in any 
other way I would not have cared a straw — it is more 
than probable that this narrative would never have been 
written. 

What a powerful engine is ridicule ! It is the batter- 
ing-ram of the mind, and will often destroy by a single 
blow the mightiest fabric of reason. It is used by fools 
and men whose minds are too imbecile to cope with the 
edifice of thought which towers above their limited grasp ; 
and yet the very architect of such construction fears it, 
as does the poor red man the annihilating artillery of 
the pale-face. 

I lay and thought ; and the more I thought, the more 
restless I became. I rolled to and fro in an agony of 
mind that at last became intolerable, and I arose. 

Stealing-quietly from the sleeping circle, I proceeded 
to the creek, and, having moistened my parched and 
feverish lips, and bathed my heated temples and brow, I 
! took my way thence to a little bluff on the opposite side, 
whence I could overlook the valley for a considerable 
i extent. 

' Seating myself upon a-rock, I gazed around. Below 
i was our camp-fire, brightly burning, beside which I could 
I trace, with a shadowy indistinctness, the outlines of the 
sleepers’ dark forms. There they lay, all unconscious to 
I the outer world, perhaps enjoying the pleasure of some 
! delightful dream. How I envied them their sleep! 
j Beyond them, by the same light, I could faintly perceive 

i 5 


98 


THE THUNDER-STORM. 


our animals — hoppled, but not picketed, the latter being' 
thought unnecessary — quietly grazing. 

It was a warm, still, starlight night. Above me the 
heavens were brilliantly studded with myriads of shining 
orbs, whose light fell softly and sweetly upon the sleep- 
ing earth. Here, not a scud floated in the clear atmo- 
sphere ; but in the west I could perceive huge, black 
clouds, lifting their ill-shaped heads above the horizon, 
darting forth the red bolts of heaven, while a far-off 
rumbling sound came jarringly upon my ear. 

Fixing my gaze at last in this direction, I sat and 
watched the rapid progress of an approaching storm. 

On it came like a mighty squadron, a few fleecy 
clouds as banners thrown out in advance, behind which 
flashed and thundered its dread artillery, making the 
very earth tremble beneath the sound. 

From youth up, the rapid play of lightning had 
strongly affected my nervous system and made me a 
coward ; and now — lonely, sad and gloomy — I was in a 
proper condition to feel its effects more sensibly than 
ever. 

Half an hour passed, and the rolling clouds had 
darkened the western heavens, while the almost incessant 
flashes of fire seemed to set the earth in a blaze, leaving 
it the next moment shrouded in a darkness almost in- 
penetrable. 

Dismal as was the scene, I sat with my eyes riveted 
upon it, while a painful sense of awe made my limbs feel 
weak and my blood move sluggishly through my veins, 
or rush over me with flashes of feverish heat. Several 
times I arose with the intention of returning to camp, 
but as often resumed my former position, as if enchained 
to the spot by some magical spell. 

On came the storm with startling velocity ; and pres- 
ently I could see the tops of distant trees bending to 
the blast — the rain falling in broad, white sheets, as if 
about to deluge the earth — and hear the truly dismal roar- 
ing of the rushing winds. I would have returned to my 
companions now, but our camp afforded no protection, 
and I fancied myself as safe where I was. 

At last it broke upon me in all its force ; and such a 


THE THUNDER-STORM, 


99 


storm I never witnessed before, and hope never to 
again. 

I feel myself incompetent to describe it. The rain fell 
in torrents ; the wind blew a perfect hurricane ; and tall 
old trees, which had perhaps stood for centuries, were 
broken and uprooted ; while others, together with sur- 
rounding rocks, were shattered by the fiery bolts, whose 
crashing reports fairly deafened me. 

How I maintained my position — why I was not 
hurled headlong down the cliff — is still a mystery to my- 
self. 

Occasionally I caught a glimpse of my companions 
moving about below, evidently trying to secure their 
powder from the storm ; while Huntly was running to 
and fro in search of his friend, and to all appearance 
surprised, alarmed and distressed. 

Our animals too had become frightened ; and, rearing 
and plunging, they soon broke loose from their tethers 
and dashed madly over the plain in every direction. 

I would have joined my companions now, but this 
had become impossible ; for the rain had already swelled 
the little creek between me and them into a mighty^ 
stream, that rolled its dark, angry waters with fury be- 
low me, and added its sullen roar to the bowlings of the 
storm. I shouted, but my voice was lost even to myself 
in the mightier ones of the furious elements. 

Two hours — two long, never-to-be-forgotten hours — 
did the storm rage thus in fury ; and in those two hours 
methought I lived a lifetime. Then to my joy it 
began to abate ; and in half an hour more I again be- 
held the twinkling stars through rents in the driving 
clouds ; while the flashing lightning and the roaring 
thunder, gradually becoming less and less distinct to eye 
and ear, told me the devastating storm was fast speeding 
on toward the east. 

I now descended to the creek to join my companions; 
but finding it too much swollen to attempt a passage with 
safety, I again ascended the cliff, and shouted to them to 
assure them of my safety. ; 

At first I could not make them hear; but, after re- 
peated trials, I had the satisfaction of receiving a^ 


lOO 


THE THUNDER-STORM. 


answering shout from Huntly, who immediately set off 
in the direction whence he supposed my voice pro- 
ceeded. 

After a short time, during which we both called to 
each other continually, Huntly was enabled to make out 
my locality — but the creek prevented our meeting during 
the night. 

At day-break I discovered him and Teddy standing 
on the opposite side ; and as the flood had a little sub- 
sided, I plunged in and swam across — not, however, 
without much difficulty and danger, nor until the rushing 
waters had borne me some forty or fifty yards down the 
stream. 

No sooner was I safe on the bank, than Huntly threw 
his arms around my neck and wept like a child. 

“Thank God, Frank, my friend,” he exclaimed, “that 
I am able to clasp you once again ! Oh, if you could 
but know my feelings of last night ! I thought you were 
lost — lost to me forever !” and again he was forced to 
dash the tears from his eyes. “ But tell me, Frank — how 
came you, there ?” 

I proceeded to detail every particular. 

“A horrible night to you, too, Frank !” said Huntly, 
in reply. “ But hereafter, my friend, you must not steal 
away from me in this way. If you have troubles, share 
them with me.” 

Teddy was greatly rejoiced to see me also ; and he 
got me by the hand, and by the leg, and capered around 
me like a delighted child — at the same time uttering 
various phrases in his peculiar style, which, in spite of 
all that had happened, did not fail to amuse and some- 
times make me laugh aloud. 

I found the trappers surly and grumbling at what 
they considered their ill-luck — being for the most part in 
the loss of a few pounds of powder and their mules — all 
of which animals had escaped, and also our horses. 

“ Augh !” grunted Black George as I came up. “ Glad 
to see you, boy ! Thought you’d gone under. It was a 
screecher of a night, wasn’t it ? Lost heaps of powder, 
and all the critters gone to durnation. Augh !” 

My powder had fortunately been so packed that 


ONWARD TO FORT LARAMIE. 


lOI 


nearly all was safe ; and as I had a great store on hand, 
I gave each of the mountaineers a pound, which served to 
put them in a better humor. 

We now separated and set off in different directions 
to hunt up our animals, with the understanding that this 
should be our rendezvous. 

We had a wearisome time of it, and it was late in the 
day before we all got together again. All, however, had 
then been recovered ; and setting forward once more, 
rather briskly, we finally encamped some ten miles fur- 
ther on. 


CHAPTER XI. 
ONWARD TO FORT LARAMIE. 


HE next morning we set forward again, and 
keeping a northwesterly course, mostly over 
a rolling prairie, encamped on the second 
night on the banks of the Nebraska, or Platte 
River. 

This river is very shallow, and flows over a sandy 
bed. We found the bottom at this point some three or 
four miles wide, devoid of a tree, and covered with ex- 
cellent grass, besprinkled with a salinous substance, 
which caused our animals to devour it greedily. 

Setting our faces westward, we now followed the 
course of the Platte for several days, without a single 
incident occurring worth being recorded. The Platte 
bottoms we found to vary from two to four miles in 
breadth, and in some places our animals fared slimly. 

On the fourth day. Fiery Ned shot a fat buffalo, 
which was the first I had ever seen close at hand. 

This animal dies very hard, even when mortally 
wounded ; and an individual, unacquainted with its 
nature — or, as the mountaineers would term him, a green- 
horn — though never so good a marksman, would as- 



102 


0NWART> TO FORT LARAMIE. 


suredly fail, using the hunters’ phrase, “ to throw him in 
his tracks.” One would suppose that a shot about the 
head, or central part of the body, would prove fatal — but 
nothing is more erroneous. To kill a bull, the ball must 
either divide his spine, or etiter his body behind the 
shoulder, a few inches above the brisket — this being the 
only point through which his heart and lungs are acces- 
sible. And even here, the vital part of all vitality, with a 
ball directly through his heart, I was informed by one of 
the hunters that he had known an old bull run half a 
mile before falling. 

The buffalo killed was a fat cow ; and turning her 
upon her back, the trappers proceeded to dress her in 
the real mountain style. Parting the skin from head 
to tail with a sharp knife, directly across the belly, they 
peeled down the hide on either side; and then, taking from 
her the “ hump rib,” “tender loin,” “fleece,” “tongue,” 
and “ boudins,” they left the remainder, with the exception 
of the skin, which was thrown across one of the mules, to 
the vigilant care of the wolves. The “ boudin,” a portion 
of the entrails, is considered by the mountaineers the tit- 
bit of all. Slightly browned over a fire, it is swallowed, 
yard after yard, without being separated; and, I may add, 
without resulting in the least inconvenience to the gor- 
mand. 

Through this section of country I observed innumer- 
able buffalo paths, running from the bluffs to the river 
and crossing each other in every direction. These paths 
present a striking appearance to one unused to the sight, 
being more than a foot in width, some three or four 
inches in depth, and as smooth and even as if cut artifici- 
ally. 

But to Huntly and myself, the most amusing and in- 
teresting sights of all we saw on the route, were the 
towns of the prairie-dog, which are to be found at differ- 
ent intervals along the whole course of the sandy Platte, 
and through several of which we passed. The first one 
we came to, so astonished and interested us, that Huntly, 
Teddy and myself dismounted to take a closer vievv ; 
while the trappers, being of course familiar with such 
things, steadily pursued their way. 


ONWARD TO FORT LARAMIE. 


103 


The prairie-dog is above the size of a large gray- 
squirrel, somewhat longer than a Guinea-pig, of a 
brownish or sandy hue, with a head somewhat resem- 
bling a bull-dog. Being of a social disposition, they col- 
lect together in large bodies, and build their towns on a 
gravelly plain, some of them being miles in extent, and 
with a population equaling the largest cities of America, 
or even Europe. Their earthen houses, which are from 
two to three feet in height, are made in the form of a 
cone. They are entered by a hole in the top or apex, 
which descends vertically some three feet or more, and 
then takes an oblique course and connects with others in 
every direction. Their streets are laid out with some- 
thing approaching regularity ; and they evidently have 
a sort of police, and laws to govern them, not unlike 
those of superior and more enlightened beings. In some 
of the towns, a house larger than ordinary occupies a 
central position, which is tenanted by a sleek, fat dog, 
supposed to be the presiding functionary of the place, 
whose sole employment appears to be in sunning him- 
self outside of his domicile, and noting with patriarchal 
gravity the doings of his inferiors. 

The town which we halted to examine was one of the 
larger class, and covered an area, to the best of my judg- 
ment, of at least five hundred acres. On our approach, 
a certain portion of the little fellows ran to the mouth of 
their holes, and, squatting down, commenced a shrill 
barking, not unlike that made by a toy dog — whereupon 
the pups and smaller-sized animals betook themselves 
with the utmost dispatch to their burrows. A nearer 
approach drove the more daring under cover, whence 
they took the liberty of peeping out to examine us, and 
occasionally of uttering a shrill bark, as a gentle hint 
that our company was anything but agreeable. 

The food of these interesting little fellows consists, for 
the most part, of prairie grass and roots. They live a 
life of constant alarm — being watched and pounced upon 
continually by the wolf, the hawk, the eagle, and so 
forth. They are very hospitable to such animals as 
choose to come and live peaceably among them ; the 
screech owl and rattlesnake are their constant guests ; 


104 


ONWARD TO FORT LARAMIE. 


and it is not unusual, I was told, to find all three bur- 
rowed together in one hole. They are sometimes eaten 
by the Indian and mountaineer. 

Spending an hour or more in examining the town, we 
remounted our horses and soon overtook the trappers — 
Teddy observing, as we quitted the village : 

“ Faith, your honors, but thim is queer bir-r-ds now, 
isn’t they? Och ! be me mother’s hair ! it’s like they’ve 
bin down to St. Louey and got the notion in their heads 
and think they can baat the city, the spalpeens ! I’d like 
’em to go and sae Dublin, now — maybe that ’ud astonish 
’em a wee bit, and give ’em some new idees respicting 
public idifices, jist. Ochone ! Ireland’s the place to 
taach ’em — the baastly serpints of bir-r-ds that they is.” 

The first natural object of curiosity I beheld, after 
crossing the South Fork of the Platte, was the Solitary 
Tower, opposite to which we encamped, on the margin 
of a small stream called Little Creek. This tower, com- 
posed of sand and clay, resembles a stone edifice, and, 
being some seven or eight hundred feet high, can be seen 
at a distance of fifteen or twenty miles. To the distant 
beholder it presents the appearance of some mighty 
structure of feudal days ; but a near view dispels the 
illusion, and the spectator sees before him only a rough, 
unseemly, but stupendous pile — thus verifying the words 
of the poet, that 

“ Distance lends enchantment to the view.” 

I was informed by Black George that this tower 
could be ascended, though at some risk to the adventurer; 
and that he and another trapper had made the trial some 
years before, and spent one cold winter’s night in one of 
its damp crevices — escaping by this means a party of 
hostile savages who were on their trail. I did not attempt 
the ascent myself. 

The following day, before noon, we reached Chimney 
Rock, another natural curiosity, which can be seen at a 
distance of thirty miles, and which afar off resembles a 
shot tower ; but, as you near it, it gradually assumes the 
appearance of a haystack with a pole protruding from 


ONWARD TO FORT LARAMIE. 


105 

the apex. It is about two hundred feet in height, and is 
composed of much the same substance as the Solitary 
Tower. The rains are gradually wearing it away, and 
in course of time it will cease to be an object of curiosity. 
Black George informed me that, twenty years before, it 
was at least a hundred and fifty or two hundred feet 
above its present elevation. 

Pursuing our journey, we encamped in the evening 
on Scott’s Bluffs, where we found a good spring and 
plenty of grass for our animals. As wood was abundant 
here, we started a fire ; and while sitting around, discus- 
sing our meat and smoking our pipes, the old trapper, 
who had not been loquacious for several days, ob- 
served : 

“ Strangers, heyar’s what can’t look round this 
here spot without feelin’ bad — I’ll be dog-gone ef I 
kin ? ” 

“ And why so ? ” I asked. 

“Case one o’ the almightiest best fellers you ever 
seed, went under here. Iknowedhim like a trump ; and 
he was one o’ them chaps you could b’ar to talk about — 
real mountain grit, with a hand that ud make your 
fingers ache when he squeezed ’em, and a fist that could 
knock a hole into your upper story and let in the atmos- 
pheric ef he didn’t like ye. Yes, he was one o’ the 
purtiest men that ever raised ha’r, throwed huffier, trapped 
beaver, swallcred ‘boudins,’ or I’m a liar. But all 
wouldn’t do. Death sot his trap and cotched him, and 
left jest a few lloatin’ sticks in the shape o’ bones to let 
us know he was a goner. He died right down thar 
'bout six paces from whar you’re settin’.” 

“ Tell us the story.” 

“ It’s purty eas}’^ told. Him and a heap o’ other fellers 
had been up on a right smart trade with the Injins, and 
was a cornin’ down this way, going to the States, when a 
lot o’ the cussed varmints jumoed on to ’em, and stole 
every blessed thing they had, even to thar guns, powder, 
meat, and be durned to ’em. Wall, Jimmy Scott — him 
as I’s tellin’ about — he hadn’t bin wall for a week, and 
gittin’ aground o’ fodder fetched him right over the 
coals. lie kicked mighty hard at fust ; but findin’ it 
5 * 


io6 ONWARD TO FORT LARAMIE. 

wasn’t no use, he gin in, and told them as was with him 
that his time was up, and he would hev to do the rest o’ 
his trappin’ in another country, and that they’d best put 
out while they’d got meat enough on thar bones to make 
wolves toiler ’em. They hated to leave him like durna- 
tion — but they had to do it ; and so* they sot him up 
agin a rock and vamosed. This was about a mile down * 
on t’other side thar ; and arter they’d gone, Jimmy got 
up and paddled over here, whar he laid down and went 
a wolfin. Nobody ever seed Jimmy Scott arterward — 
but they found his floatin’ sticks here, and gin this the 
name o’ Scott’s Bluffs.” 

The next day, long before sundown, we came in sight 
of Fort Laramie, where it was the intention of Huntly 
and myself to spend a few days, to refresh ourselves and 
rest our animals, before attempting the perilous journey 
of the mountains. 

On our whole route, from the moment we crossed 
Kansas River, we had not been gladdened by the sight 
of a single white man but ourselves ; and consequently 
my delight may be imagined, when I beheld the walls of 
this celebrated fortress appear in the distance, and felt 
that there at least I could rest in safety. 

Fort Laramie stands upon slightly elevated ground, 
some two miles from. the Platte, and on the west bank of 
Laramie Fork. It is a dirty and clumsy-looking edifice, 
built of adobes,^ after the Mexican style, with wails some 
two feet in thickness and fifteen in height, in which are 
planted posts to support the roof, the whole being cov- 
ered with a clay-like substance. Through this wall are 
two gateways, one at the north and the other at the south, 
and the top is surmounted by a wooden palisade. Over 
the main or front entrance is a square tow^/, built also 
of adobes ; and at two angles, diagonally opposite each 
other, are large, square bastions, so arranged as to sweep 
the four faces of the walls. The center of the fort is an 
open square, quadrangular in shape, along the sides of 
which are dwellings, store-rooms, stables, carpenter 


* Sun burned bricks. 


ONWARB TO FORT LARAMIE. 107 


shops, smith shops, offices, and so forth, all fronting 
upon the inner area. 

This fort belongs to the North American Fur Com- 
pany, and is a general rendezvous for traders, travelers, 
trappers, Indians and emigrants, on their way to and 
from the different trading posts, Oregon and the States. 
Here may be found representatives of all nations and 
colors, meeting on an equal footing, often drinking and 
gambling together, many of whom may be put down as 
implacable enemies, and who, at another time and place, 
would think nothing of cutting each others’ throats. 
Here occasionally may be seen the Ponka, the Pawnee, 
the Crow, the Blackfoot, the Sioux and the Shoshone — 
intermingled with the Spaniard, the Frenchman, the 
Mexican, the Anglo-Saxon, the Dutchman and the 
Negro. The trapper comes in at certain seasons loaded 
with furs, and receives in exchange for them powder, 
lead, tobacco, whiskey, and the like, at the most exorbi- 
tant prices. Then generally follow a few days of dissi- 
pation — in feasting, gambling, drunkenness, and some- 
times riot — when he finds all his hard earnings gone, and 
he obliged to betake himself again to the mountains to 
procure a new supply, to be squandered in the same 
reckless manner. 

As we rode up to the fort, we noticed several Indians 
standing outside, carelessly leaning against the mud- 
covered walls, their persons bedecked with gew-gaws, 
and their faces bedaubed with paint, looking surly and 
ferocious, evidently under the excitement of liquor, and 
ready at any moment, did not their cowardice and fears 
restrain them, to take the life and scalp of the first white 
man that might come in their way. Standing among 
them, and addressing one who from his superiority 
of costume and equipments I judged to be a chief, was a 
man of small stature, mostly concealed under a large 
sarape and broad-brimmed sombrero. 

“ Wagh !” exclaimed Black George, with an indig- 
nant scowl ; “ ef thar aih’t one o’ them infernal Greasers, 
I wish I may be dogged! Wall, all I’ve got to say is, 
he’d better not come foolin’ round this child, or he’ll find 
his ha’r lifted. Eh ! Ned ?” 


io8 


ONWARD TO FORT LARAMIE. 


“ Won’t nothin’ short.” 

Passing through the gateway, we soon had the satis- 
faction of seeing our animals well disposed of ; and en- 
tering the common reception-room, we took a friendly 
drink together ; after which, lignting our pipes (Huntly 
and myself had already adopted this habit since leaving 
home), -we strolled around the fortress to gratify our 
curiosity and while away the time till supper. 

We found everything in perfect order, all the various 
compartments cleanly, and the fort well garrisoned by a 
dozen hardy fellows, each of whom had seen more or less 
service, and the commander of whom was at least a 
veteran in experience if not in years. 

The fort was not crowded by any means — it not be- 
ing the season of the year for the traders and trappers to 
be “ in ” — but still the number of guests was quite re- 
spectable. There were a few families of emigrants on 
their way to Oregon and California ; and one or two 
homesick ones on their return to the States, looking pale, 
sickly and dejected. Some half a dozen Indians, two or 
three Mexicans, as many French voyageurs^ four or five 
trappers and hunters — all of whom were recognized by 
our companions — a brace of Yankee speculators, another 
of courreurs des bois* together with the squaw-wives and 
children of the garrison — completed, as far as I could 
judge by a hasty glance, the present occupants of the 
station. 

On the eastern side of the fort we found an ad- 
ditional wall to the one I have described, which con- 
nected with the main one at both extremities and inclosed 
ground for stables and corral. A large gateway opened 
into this from the southern side, and a postern communi- 
cated with it from the main inclosure. Here were a few 
mules and cattle belonging to the emigrants, while in 
the stables our own horses were enjoying the best the 
country afforded, for which of course we expected to pay 
at least six prices. In view of this important item, and 
their incapacity to meet it, the mountaineers had taken 
care to put their mules on less expensive diet. 


* Itinerant traders or peddlers. 


THE MYSTERIOUS EQUESTRIENNE. 109 


In the main inclosure, or common, were several 
heavy Pittsburg wagons, some of which were undergo- 
ing repairs at the hands of the various mechanics em- 
ployed about the station. 

As we drew near them, after leaving the corral, we 
noticed that several had left their employment and col- 
lected in a group around some object which we could 
not make out from where we stood ; while others had 
suspended their labors and were gazing in the same 
direction, evidently on the point of joining their com- 
rades. 

Huntly and I, being now by ourselves, and our 
curiosity excited, we eagerly sprung forward, and, elbow- 
ing our way through the fast thickening crowd, to our 
surprise beheld what I shall proceed to describe in the 
following chapter. 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE MYSTERIOUS EQUESTRIENNE’ 

N the center of the ring stood an Indian pony 
of the largest class, and the most beautiful 
animal I had ever seen. His color was a jet 
black, and so glossy that it seemed to possess 
the power of reflection. Every point and 
limb was perfectly developed, with legs sleek and slim, 
and a beautifully arched neck, on which was a head that 
bore the look of conscious superiority and pride. His 
trappings were in perfect keeping with all the rest. A 
small, delicately-formed Spanish saddle, designed for an 
equestrienne, surmounted his back, underneath which 
was a saddle-blanket of wampum, most beautifully 
wrought, with fine, shiny beads of all colors, into various 
birds and flowers, and which, being long and hanging 
low, almost enveloped him in its ample folds. Even his 
bridle, martingale, reins and belly-girth were worked in 



no THE MYSTERIOUS EQUESTRIENNE. 


the same beautiful manner, with beads of red, white and 
blue. He was walking to and fro, snuffing the air, paw- 
ing the ground, and occasio-nally turning his gaze upon 
the crowd, with a proud look, as if conscious he was an 
object both of curiosity and a,dmiration. 

Various were the remarks of surprise and delight 
which were passed upon him by the excited spectators, 
some of whom ventured to pat his sleek neck and rub his 
head. 

At length one strapping fellow caught him by the 
bridle, and placed his hand upon the saddle, as if with 
the intention of vaulting upon his back. But this, ac- 
cording to the pony’s notion, was carrying familiarity a 
little too far ; and with a loud snort, a rear and plunge, 
he tore himself away ; nor would he afterward permit a 
hand to touch him, although he still remained quietly in 
the ring. 

“ Heavens !” exclaimed Huntly ; did you ever be- 
fore see the like, Frank ? Did you ever before see any- 
thing of the brute creation so beautiful ?” 

“Never in my life,” I replied; “and what is more, I 
am anxious to behold his rider — for by the saddle it is a 
female.” 

“ True ; I did not think of that ; and if she prove half 
as beautiful, by my faith I fear I shall find myself in love 
with her.” v 

“Notwithstanding the lovely Unknown — eh! Char- 
ley ?” 

“ Come, come — no home-thrusts now,” answered 
Huntly, good-humoredly. 

“ Wall, heyar’s what seed a good many sights in my 
time, but I’ll be dog-gone ef ever I seed anything o’ the 
boss kind as could hold a primin’ to this critter 1” said 
the voice of Black George, who had come up behind 
us. 

“But who and where is the rider ?” I asked, turning 
to him. 

“ Don’t know whar, but s’pect it’s some squaw or 
other — augh !” 

“ The rider is an Indian female, the most perfect I 
ever beheld,” rejoined a stranger at my elbow, and 


T'HE MYSTERIOUS EQUESTRIENNE, m 


whom I recognized as one of the speculators previously 
mentioned. 

“ Where is she? where is she?” cried several voices, 
before I had time to respond to my informant ; and im- 
mediately the stranger became the center of observa- 
tion. 

“She is now closeted with the commander of the 
garrison.” 

“Then perhaps she brings important news ?” observed 
Huntly. 

“ Nothing more probable, sir,” was the reply. “ There 
is a good deal of dissatisfaction among the Indians, I 
understand.” 

“ Indeed !” I replied. “ And do you think the route 
westward particularly dangerous at this time?” 

“ I do ; for rumors have reached us that the Crows, 
the Oglallahs, the Gros Ventres, the Cheyennes, and one 
or two other tribes, have vowed to take vengeance on all 
the whites that fall in their way ; and it is said, I do not 
know with how much truth, that the Oglallahs are out 
on the Black Hill range, and in the vicinity of the Red 
Buttes, while the Crows are skulking through the valley 
of the Sweetwater.”, 

“ Why, this is alarming, truly !” I rejoined ; “and cer- 
tainly discouraging to those who, like ourselves, are 
going further west merely for adventure and amuse- 
ment.” 

“ If adventure or amusement is your only object in 
crossing the Rocky Mountains, take my advice, young 
men, and either turn back or remain where you are.” 

“ And yet what for should they turn back ?” said a 
voice behind us. “ All men ar’ born to die ; and it’s not 
probable any will go before thar time. Courage and 
resolution ar’ everything in this part of the world.” 

I turned around and beheld in the speaker a young 
man of fair stature and robust frame, over whose clean- 
shaven face time had not drawn a wrinkle. His features 
were regular and prepossessing. The general expression 
of his intelligent countenance was so reserved and unob- 
trusive, that I really felt surprised he should have haz- 
arded the remarks just quoted, without first being called 


1 12 THE MYSTERIOUS EQUESTRIENNE. 


upon for his opinion. To all appearance he had not seen 
over twenty-five winters, though in reality he might have 
been much older, so difficult was it to determine by his 
countenance. He had light hair — a keen, restless, eagle- 
like gray eye — an ample forehead — and a skin which, but 
for exposure to all kinds of weather, would doubtless 
have been as fair and as soft as a lady’s. His limbs, 
though slender, were straight and sinewy, with muscles 
of iron ; and being something of a connoisseur in such 
matters, I at once put him down as an active, and, for his 
inches, a powerful man. He was costumed in the usual 
mountain style, and I judged had just entered the fort, 
as I did not remember having seen him before. 

As he spoke, I noticed that several of the bystanders 
whispered to others, and that instantly all eyes became 
fixed upon him, with an air of curiosity for which I could 
not account. 

The stranger, to whom he had addressed his remarks, 
coolly examined him from head to foot, as one who felt 
a little nettled at his interference, and wished to assure 
himself of the exact importance to be attached to his 
words before venturing a reply. By a slight curl of the 
lip into something like a sneer, I saw at once he was not 
a judge of human nature, and had underrated the new- 
comer not a little. He was himself a supercilious man, 
who delighted in giving advice with a patronizing air, 
and consequently did not care to have his wise counsel 
questioned by what he evidently considered an inter- 
loper. He, therefore, after taking a complete and rather 
insolent survey of the other’s person, replied, rather 
pompously : 

“ Why should they turn back, say you ? Because there 
is danger, great danger, to them if they advance further, as 
any one who is at all acquainted with this part of the 
country must be aware. If you had traveled it as much as 
/ have, sir (there was an important stress on the pronoun), 
you would, I fancy, understand the value of my advice ; 
but young men (the speaker was about thirty), on their 
first hunt, are apt to be very knowing and imprudent — 
and, sir, I may add, without wishing to be personal, a 
little i7npude7it also.” 


THE MYSTERIOUS EQUESTRIENNE. 113 

Here the speaker straightened himself up with an air 
of importance, and glanced around upon the spectators, 
where he saw many a quiet smile, which he was fain to 
attribute to silent approval of his own lofty and con- 
clusive argument. 

The new-comer also smiled slightly, as he quietly 
asked : 

“ Might I know, sir, hovy much of the country you’ve 
traveled ?” 

“ Thousands of miles, young man — thousands of 
miles, sir ! Yes, sir ! I have been twice to Oregon and 
once to California.” 

“ Is that all ?” 

“ That all, sir ! Umph! that, let me tell you, is a good 
deal, sir, as you will find when you have gone over the 
half of it.” 

“ I think I’ve done that already — at least that’s my 
impression,” was the somewhat nettling answer ; which 
was rendered none the less so to the speculator by a few 
half suppressed titters and one hearty laugh from the 
crowd. 

'‘Hndeed, young man ! Pray be so good as to inform 
us where you have been ?” 

“ It would be much easier to tell you whar I’ve not 
been,” answered the other pleasantly. “ But I may say, 
without fear of contradiction, that I’ve seen nearly every 
foot of ground from the Yellow Stone to the Spanish 
Peaks — from the Mississippi to the Pacific Ocean.” 

“ Your name, stranger?” said the other, a little crest- 
fallen. 

“ I’m called Kit Carson.” 

At the quiet mention of that renowned name, better 
known on the mountains and over the broad West than 
that of any other living being, and which was as familiar 
to me as a household word, 1 involuntarily gave a start 
of surprise ; while three deafening cheers went up from 
the crowd, mingled with boisterous shouts of laughter, 
to the no small chagrin and mortification of the pompous 
speculator, who muttered something which to me sounded 
very much like an oath. 

Here, then, stood the famous Kit Carson ! a being I 


1 14 THE MYSTERIOUS EQUESTRIENNE. 


had long had a secret desire to behold, but whom I had 
always pictured to myself as huge, rough, brawny and 
ferocious. Nor could I bring myself to realize that the 
person before me was that same incarnate devil in In- 
dian fight I had heard him represented, and who had 
killed and scalped more savages in the same number of 
years than any two hunters west of the old Missis- 
sippi. 

When the laugh and tumult had somewhat subsided, 
the stranger, anxious to escape ridicule, observed : 

“ Gentlemen, I acknowledge my verdancy, and feel 
that I owe you all a treat. Kit Carson, your hand ! and 
how will you have yours — mixed or clear ?” 

Another burst of merriment broke from the crowd, 
with three hearty cheers for the speculator and the 
prospect of a speedy wet” all round. 

Suddenly the boisterous tumult subsided, as if by 
magic, and not a man ventured a remark above a 
whisper, while the eyes of each became fixed upon some 
object on the opposite side of the square. 

Stand back ! stand back ! She comes ! she comes !” 
I heard whispered on all sides of me. 

“Look, Frank — look !” said Huntly, in a suppressed 
voice, clutching my arm nervously. 

I did look ; and what I beheld I feel myself incompe- 
tent to describe and do the subject justice. 

Before me, perfectly erect, her tiny feet scarce seem- 
ing to touch the ground she trod, was a being which 
required no great stretch of imagination to fancy just 
dropped from some celestial sphere. She was a little 
above medium in stature, as straight as an arrow, and 
with a form as symmetrical and faultless as a Venus. 
Twenty summers (I could not realize she had ever seen a 
winter) had molded her features into what I may term 
a classic beauty, as if chiseled from marble by the hand 
of a master. Her skin was dark, but not more so than 
a Creole’s, and with nothing of the brownish or reddish 
hue of the native Indian. It was beautifully clear too, 
and apparently of a velvet-likc softness. Her hair was 
a glossy black, and her hazel eyes were large and 
lustrous, fringed with long lashes, and arched by fine, 


THE MYSTERIOUS EQUESTRIENNE. 115 


penciled brows. Her profile was straight from fore- 
head to chin, and her full face oval, lighted with a soul 
of feeling, fire and intelligence. A well-formed mouth, 
guarded by two plump lips, was adorned by a beautiful 
set of teeth, partially displayed when she spoke or 
smiled. A slightly aquiline nose gave an air of decision 
to the whole countenance, and rendered its otherwise 
almost too effeminate expression noble, lofty and com- 
manding. 

Her costume was singular, and such as could not fail 
to attract universal attention. A scarlet waistcoat con- 
cealed a well-developed bust, to which were attached 
short sleeves and skirts — the latter coming barely to the 
knees, something after the fashion of the short frock 
worn by the danseuse of the present day. These skirts 
were showily embroidered with wampum, and a wampum 
belt passed around her waist, in which glittered a silver- 
mounted Spanish dirk. From the frock downward, leg- 
gins and moccasins, beautifully wrought into various 
figures with beads, inclosed the legs and feet. A tiara of 
many colored feathers, to which were attached little 
bells, that tinkled as she walked, surmounted the head ; 
and a bracelet of gold and. gems on either well-rounded 
arm, with a necklace of a similar kind, completed her 
costume and ornaments. 

With a proud carriage, and an unabashed look from 
her dark, eloquent eyes, she advanced a few paces, 
glanced loftily around upon the surprised and admiring 
spectators, and then struck the palms of her hands 
together in rapid succession. 

In a moment her Indian pony came prancing to her 
side. 

With a single bound she vaulted into the saddle, and, 
gracefully waving us a silent adieu, vanished through 
the open gateway. 

Rushing out of the fort, the excited crowd followed 
her with their eyes till her beautiful form became com- 
pletely lost in the neighboring forest. 

“ Who is she? who can she be?” cried a dozen per- 
sons at once. 


ii6 


PJ^EFAjRING for battle. ! 


Perarie Flower, or I’m a durned old buzzard!”, 
exclaimed a well-known voice in reply. I 

I turned and beheld Black George already working 
himself up to a great pitch of excitement. 




CHAPTER XIII. 

PREPARING FOR BATTLE. 

HE new’S brought by Prairie Flower we learned 
in the course of the evening was of the ut- 
most importance — being to the effect that a 
large band of warriors, composed chiefly of 
Oglallahs and Cheyennes, had taken up their 
position in the vicinity of Bitter Cottonwood, a place 
some twenty-five miles distant, and had vowed to cut off 
all the whites that came that way, either going to or re- 
turning from Oregon. 

The result of this information was to cause no little 
alarm in the station, particularly among the emigrants, 
who, being for the greater part composed of women and 
children, were in no fit condition to brave the assaults of 
a blood-thirsty body of savages. 

But who was Prairie Flower? — the mysterious mes- 
senger that belonged to the Indians, and yet came like a 
guardian angel to warn the whites of their danger? Who 
was she indeed! None could answer. To ail save the 
commander of the garrison and Black Geoge (who now 
had to rehearse his remarkable story a dozen times, to 
gratify the curiosity of the excited inquirers, and who 
became a personage of no little importance in conse- 
quence), she was an utter stranger ; and, for all any one 
knew to the contrary, miglit have dropped from the 
skies, a lovely being from a fairer realm. 

The commander of the garrison, whom I shall term 
Captain Balcolm, had seen her once before, when she 



PREPARING FOR BATTLE. 


117 

came to warn him against the Sioux, who were meditat- 
ing a descent upon the fort, a surprise and general mas- 
sacre of its inmates, and whose design by this timely 
notice was thwarted ; but as to who she was, how she 
gained her information, to what tribe she belonged, or 
why she was permitted to do these good acts and escape, 
he could give no satisfactory reply. On both occasions 
she had required a private interview with him ; and on 
the former one had sent a request to him by an Indian 
half-breed, to meet her in a little grove some hundred 
yards distant from the walls of the fortress. 

At first the captain had refused to go unattended, for 
fear of some stratagem to take his life or make him a 
prisoner. The messenger had gone back evidently dis- 
satisfied ; but in a few minutes he had returned with a 
skin parchment, on which the same request, as orally de- 
livered, had been written with a charred stick, with the 
additional statement that the writer was a female, and 
that the news she had to convey was of great impor- 
tance. 

Ashamed to show further cowardice, the captain had 
armed himself to the teeth, had called his garrison around 
him, and notified them to be in readiness to protect the 
fort if besieged, and avenge him on the half-breed, whom 
he left with them as hostage, in case he should not re- 
turn within two hours — merely stating, by way of ex- 
planation, that he was going to hold a private conference 
with a distinguished chief. 

The result of this conference, as before stated, had 
been to save the lives of all, and defeat a well-laid scheme 
of the savages. 

Captain Balcolm furthermore stated, that Prairie 
Flower, as she called herself, spoke the English language 
well and fluently ; and that to his inquiry regarding her- 
self and tribe, she had answered, with a smile, that she 
must ever remain a mysterious being to him and all of 
his race ; that as to tribe, she found herself a welcome 
guest with all — came and went as she chose, without ques- 
tion or hindrance — and that the language of each she 
understood and spoke as readily as her mother tongue. 

“ In conclusion,” added the gallant captain, “ I must 


ii8 


PREPARING FOR BATTLE, 


say, that, with all my experience, I have never seen so 
perfect, so mysterious, so incomprehensible a being as 
herself. Were I superstitious, I should unquestionably 
be tempted to doubt my senses, and believe her a super- 
natural visitant ; but I have touched her, and I know that 
she is flesh and blood.” 

Many there were in the fort, however, who had not 
so much faith in her identity with an earthly habitant as 
the captain ; and I often heard confidential whispers to 
the effect that she was a being from another realm, who 
had assumed the mortal shape for the time, merely to 
bring about some special design of the Great Spirit, and 
that when said design should be accomplished she would 
never be seen again by living mortal. 

The Indian, it is well known to all who know anything 
of his history, is the most superstitious creature on earth, 
and believes in the direct interposition of spirits, in 
bodily shape or otherwise, on any and every momentous 
occasion ; and as the trapper or hunter is but little re- 
moved from him by civilization, and not a whit by 
knowledge gained from letters, it is hardly reasonable to 
• suppose that he would imbibe ideas at war with those 
among whom the most of his eventful life is spent. In 
his earliest venture, he learns and adopts the habits of 
his enemy, and in some cases it would seem his very 
nature also ; and the result is, that he becomes at last 
neither more nor less than what I may venture to term a 
civilized savage. 

And here I may remark, en passant, that your real, 
bona fide mountaineer rarely looks beyond the lodge of 
some favorite tribe for a partner to share his toils and 
rear his progeny ; and to the truth of this assertion, even 
the garrison of Fort Laramie bore striking evidence ; for 
nearly every wife among them was a full-blooded squaw, 
and nearly every child bore the cross of the red man 
and white. 

Various were the speculations that night concerning 
Prairie Flower and her alarming intelligence, the truth- 
fulness of which none seemed to question, however much 
they might the identity of the lovely being herself with 
the race called mortal. 


PREPARING FOR BATTLE. 


119 

That the Indians were at Bitter Cottonwood in great 
force, was therefore a matter beyond dispute ; and the 
question was, what should be done under the circum- 
stances? To remain inactive was only to play the part 
of cowards, doom a portion of their own race to certain 
destruction, augment the confidence of the wily foe in 
his own resources, and consequently raise his hopes with 
the flush of success, and so increase his daring and 
audacity. While, on the other hand, to assail him in all 
his strength, in his own stronghold, with only a handful 
of men, was like rushing unarmed into the lion’s den 
and courting speedy annihilation. 

In this dilemma what was to be done ? Something, 
all admitted, must be done, and that quickly ; but what 
that something was, now became a matter for serious de- 
liberation. Some proposed one thing and some another; 
and the discussion waxed warm, and seemed likely to 
be protracted indefinitely, without resulting in the agree- 
ment of any two to the proposal of any other two, when 
Kit Carson, who had sat and listened attentively, without 
venturing a remark, observed : 

“Say what you will, comrades, thar is after all but 
one way of settling this affair, and that is to pitch into 
the varmints and lift their hair. I’ve had a little expe- 
rience in my time, if I am young in years, and may safely 
say I’ve never know’^ed an Injun yet as wouldn’t back 
when assailed in an ’arnest manner by a determined pale- 
face. I’ve rode right among thar lodges before now, and 
raised a top-knot in full view of fifty able-bodied war- 
riors, their squa^^s and pappooses. Now if I could do 
this here myself, it speaks well for an attack upon them 
in numbers.” 

“ But what, then, do you propose?” I inquired. 

“ Why, sir, to arm and mount, on good horses, a 
dozen or fifteen of us, dash into thar midst, and fight our 
way out.” 

As he said this, his brow wrinkled, his eyes flashed, 
and his whole countenance exhibited traces of that fiery, 
reckless daring, which, together with its opposite, cool- 
ness and great presence of mind, had already rendered 
him so famous in the wilderness. I saw at once, that, 


120 


FJiEFAJ^ING FOR BATTLE, 


however mild and quiet he might appear when not 
excited, it only needed an occasion like the present to 
bring out his latent energies and make him a terrible foe 
to contend with. 

‘‘Well,” I rejoined, “although I came merely for 
adventure, and beyond that have no object in pursuing 
my way further, yet I will readily volunteer my services 
in a case of such emergency.” 

“ And I,” exclaimed Huntly, quickly. 

“ Your hands, gentlemen !” said Carson. “ I took you 
for men^ and I see I warn’t mistaken. Who next ?” 

This rapid decision produced an electrical effect upon 
all, and in a moment a dozen affirmative answers 
responded to the challenge ; - while each, eager to get 
ahead of his neighbor, now pressed around the young, 
famous and daring mountaineer. 

In less than half an hour all preliminaries were set- 
tled, and sixteen hardy, able-bodied men were mustered 
into the ranks. These included the four trappers who 
had been our companions, together with Huntly, Teddy 
and myself. 

It was then agreed that Kit Carson should be our 
leader, and that on the following day we should mount 
ourselves on the best horses that could be procured, and, 
taking a roundabout course, should approach the sav- 
ages as near as possible without being discovered, and 
await the night to commence our attack. 

This matter thus being finally settled, we retired to 
rest, some of us for the last time before taking that final 
sleep which knows no waking. 

Rolling myself in a buffalo skin, I threw myself upon 
the ground — but it was a long time before I could close 
my eyes in slumber. Thoughts of what another night 
might bring forth kept me awake. I might be lying cold 
and dead upon the earth, a prey to wild beasts — or, what 
was more terrifying, be a living captive to a merciless 
foe, doomed to the awful tortures of the stake. I thought 
too of home — of Lilian — of the mysterious Prairie 
Flower — and in the confusion of all these I fell asleep, to 
find them strangely commingled in my dreams. 

The morning broke bright and beautiful ; and ere the 


PREPARING FOR BA TTLE. 


I2I 


sun had more than gilded the loftiest peak of the Rocky 
Mountains, we were all astir, preparing for our hazard- 
ous expedition. 

With the assistance of Captain Balcolm, we succeeded 
in mustering sixteen fine horses, including of course 
those we had brought with us. We then armed our- 
selves to the teeth, with rifles, pistols, knives and toma- 
hawks ; and, partaking of a savory breakfast, tendered 
us by the gallant commander of the garrison, prepared 
ourselves to sally forth. 

Before we departed, however, I had a task, which 
proved far more amusing than desirable, in explaining to 
Teddy the proper method of using his rifle and pistols, 
and the manner in which he must conduct himself in the 
forthcoming fight. Having shown him how to load, 
prime and sight the former weapon, I discharged it at a 
target, and ordered him to imitate my example with all 
the dispatch possible. 

“ Jabers !’' shouted Teddy, in great glee, scampering 
off to the target to make an examination of my shot. 

Ill a minute he returned, bringing it with him ; and 
pointing triumphantly to a bullet-hole, which he found 
in its center, he said : 

“ Troth, your honor, but thim same shooters is beauthi- 
ful things, now, for murthering the baastly blaggards of 
Injins, jist ! Here, now, yees boured a howle right cin- 
tral, as asy as mesilf could do it wid a gimlet, and yees 
a standing there all the wdiiles ! Be me sowl too ! an’ 
now I remimbers, I didn’t sae the ball at all, at all, though 
I looked mighty sharp at it all the time wid my two eyes. 
Murtheration ! but Amiricais a great counthry now, bar- 
ring the thaving baasts of savages that’s in it.” 

Something like an hour was spent in making Teddy 
familiar with the rifle ; at the end of which time I had 
the satisfaction of finding him fit for duty. 

We all now mounted and put ourselves under the 
leadership of Kit Carson, and, amid three hearty cheers 
from the regular garrison (most of whom remained to 
protect the station), and earnest prayers from all for our 
safety and success in the coming contest, we dashed out 
from the fort. 


6 


122 


PREPARING FOR BATTLE. 


Shaping our course along the bank of the river, we 
advanced some ten or fifteen miles over the regular 
Oregon route, when we came to a place called Big Spring, 
which takes its name from a large spring of water gusii- 
ing out at the base of a steep hill, some quarter of a mile 
below the traveled road. 

Here we halted and held a council of war regarding 
our further progress ; which resulted in the decision to 
quit the road at this point, and, by striking off to the left, 
keeping ourselves covered as much as possible in the 
wood, endeavor to gain a safe lodgment near the In- 
dian camp, and remain quiet till after night-fall, when we 
must be guided wholly by circumstances. It was also 
thought prudent to throw out a few scouts in advance, 
lest we unknowingly might enter an ambuscade and all 
be cut off. 

For this purpose Carson dismounted to act on foot. 
He appointed me his lieutenant, and gave me private in- 
structions regarding the route, and at what point, pro- 
vided he had not joined us meantime, I was to halt and 
await him. Then ordering two Canadian-French 
voyageurs to dismount also, he said a few words to 
them in a jargon I did not understand. In another 
moment all three had separated and were buried in the 
surrounding wood at so many different points of com- 
pass. 

Leading the unridden horses of the scouts, we slowly 
picked our way over rough and sometimes dangerous 
ground, keeping a sharp look-out on every side for fear 
of surprise, until the sun had reached within an hour and 
a half of the horizon, when we came to a beautiful little 
open plat, covered with rich green grass and blooming 
with flowers, in the center of which bubbled up a cool, 
crystal spring, forming a sparkling little rivulet, and the 
whole of which was surrounded by a dense thicket, not 
more than a hundred yards distant at any point. 

This beautiful spot to me seemed the oasis of the 
desert ; and being to the best of my judgment the one 
described by Kit, where I was to await him, I accordingly 
ordered a halt. 

Disniounting and refreshing ourselves at the spring, 


PREPARING FOR BA TTLE. 


123 


we watered our animals, and allowed them to graze 
around us, holding fast to the bridle-reins the while, pre- 
pared to remount at a moment’s notice or the first sign 
of danger. 

Half an hour passed in this way, and some of the 
mountaineers were becoming impatient, when, to our 
great delight, we beheld the welcome visage of Carson, 
as he glided noiselessly into the open plat and rejoined 
us. And, singular enough, almost at the same moment 
the two voyageurs made their appearance at different 
points, not one of the three having seen either of the 
others since their parting from us in the morning. 

“ Well, boys,” said Carson, “ thar’ll have to be some 
warm doings to a certainty ; and those of you who aren’t 
prepared to lose your scalps, had better be backing out 
or getting ready as soon as convenient.” 

“Have you seen the Indians?” asked Huntly. 

“Well, I have, and know Prairie Flower didn’t lie 
either. Thar ar three distinct parties of them — com- 
posed of Sioux, Cheyennes and Blackfeet — at least, to the 
best of my judgment, for I didn’t like venturing too close. 
They ar camped in a little hollow just below Bitter Cot- 
tonwood, not more’n three miles distant, and evidently 
have no suspicion of our being near them.” 

“Well, what is now to be done?” I asked. 

“ Wait till I’ve had a talk with these Canadians.” 

With this Kit called the scouts aside, and, after a few 
minutes’ conversation, returned to me and said : 

“ La Fanche and Grenois both report that they’ve 
seen no Injun signs to alarm ; from which I argue, 
that, thinking themselves secure where they ar, the sav- 
ages haven’t taken thar usual precaution to send out 
scouts. Regarding the plan of attack, I think we’d bet- 
ter let our horses feed here till dark, and then ride 
through the forest for a couple of miles or so, conceal 
them, and take it afoot. I’ve got the plan fixed in my 
head, and will tell you more then. And now let’s feed 
and smoke while we’ve got time.” 

We had provided ourselves with a good supply of 
jerked meat, and we accordingly proceeded to satisfy the 
demands of nature. This done, we lighted our pipes 


124 


THE TERRIBLE AMBUSCADE. 


and smoked and talked till the shades of night warned 
us to be again on the move. 

Guided by Kit, we now entered the thicket and 
advanced slowly, cautiously and silently, for the better 
part of an hour, when we came to a dense cover of cot- 
tonwood. 

“ Halt and rope !” said Kit, in a low tone. 

In a moment each man was on the ground, and 
engaged in attaching his horse securely to a tree, though 
so dark was it here that everything had to be done by 
the sense of touch. 

“ See that all your arms ar about you, and ready, and 
then follow me, Injun file !” said Carson again ; and in 
less than three minutes, with stealthy tread, sixteen 
determined men, one after another, glided from the 
thicket into an open wood, like so many specters stalk- 
ing from the tombs of the dead. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

THE TERRIBLE AMBUSCADE. 

OME three-fourths of a mile brought us to the 
brow of a hill, whence we could overlook the 
stronghold of the enemy. 

Immediately below us were several lodges 
made of skins, around which we could faintly 
perceive numerous dark figures, moving to and fro, and 
evidently, as we thought, preparing to turn in for the 
night. A little beyond this was another encampment, or 
cluster of lodges, and still beyond another — the three 
taken together numbering not less than a hundred and 
fifty or two hundred warriors. 

And here stood we, a little band of sixteen men, 
about to assail, at the least calculation, ten times our 



THE TERRIBLE AMBUSCADE. 


125 


own force. What rashness ! what a fool-hardy under- 
taking ! 

“ Charles,” whispered I to my friend, “ it is well that 
you and I are single men.” 

“ Why so, Frank ?” 

Because neither wife nor child will be left to 
mourn our loss.” 

“ That is true,” answered he, with a sigh. “ But do 
you then think our doom certain ?” 

“ If we attack I do ; or, at least, that we have ten 
chances against us to one in our favor.” 

“ It won’t do,” whispered Carson at this moment, re- 
treating a few paces and motioning us to follow him. 
Then he added, in a low tone : “ We’re too soon, and it 
will never do to try it afoot. I must stick to my first 
calculation. Our only chance of escape from certain 
death must be by our horses. We’ll return to them and 
await the mid-watch of night. Then we must dash 
among them, do the best we can, and break for cover, or 
we shall be rubbed out before we know it. I thought, 
when I reconnoitered, it would do better to steal in among 
them and work silently — but I see now our only hope is 
by dash.” 

Accordingly we retraced our steps, and, having 
gained the cover where our animals were concealed, 
squatted down upon the earth. 

“ I say. Kit,” observed Black George, as he lighted 
his pipe, “what d’ye think o’ that thar Injin gal, hey?” 

. “Think she’s a mysterious one.” 

“ Ever seed her afore ?” 

“Never.” 

“ I have — augh ! Think she’s a speret, hey ?” 

“ No ! think she’s a human.” 

“ Well, I’ll be dog-gone ef I do ! I jest believe she’s 
got wings and kin fly— ef I don’t, call me han’some and 
put me among the cotton plants — augh !” 

“Faith, thin, Misther Black George, yees and mesilf 
is thinking much alike now,” interposed leddy. “I 
thought all the whiles she was a bir-r-d, barring the 
feathers, which is all beads on her.” 

“ Wagh ! put out for a greenhorn now !” returned 


126 


THE TERRIBLE AMBUSCADE. 


the old trapper, sarcastically. “ She's no bir-rer-rerd, as 
you sez. She’s a angel, she is — ef she isn’t, heyars what 
don’t know fat cow from poor bull !” 

Talking of Prairie Flower, our present design, to- 
gether with various other matters, we whiled away some 
two or three hours, when Carson notified us it was time 
to be on the move. 

Mounting once more, we set forward, and, bearing to 
the left, descended immediately into the valley, in which 
the foe was encamped, instead of keeping along the brow 
of the ridge as before. We were now compelled to use 
the utmost caut#ion, as the least sound might betray us 
and thwart our plans. 

At length we again made a halt, in full view of the 
dark lodges, which were faintly perceptible in the dim 
light of the stars and one or two smouldering fires near 
the center of the encampment. All was still as the 
grave, and, from anything we could discover to the con- 
trary, as devoid of a living thing. Not a word, not even 
a whisper, was heard from one of our party. Each sat 
erect upon his horse, motionless as a statue, his eyes 
fixed upon some object before him, and his mind, it may 
be, upon death and the great hereafter. 

At least so was mine ; and though I rarely knew fear, 
yet, from some unaccountable cause, I now felt my heart 
die within me, as if some dreadful thing were about to 
befall me. Our pause was but momentary, but in that 
short space of time I seemed to live an age. 

‘‘ Forward !” whispered Carson, solemnly. Each 
man for himself, and God for us all !” 

Scarcely had the sentence passed his lips, when, to 
our astonishment and dismay, a tremendous volley rang 
on all sides of us, and a shower of bullets and arrows 
came whizzing through the air, accompanied by. yells 
that made my blood run cold ; while on every hand we 
beheld a legion of dark figures suddenly spring up from 
the earth, their murderous knives and tomahawks faintly 
gleaming in the dim light, as, flourishing them over their 
heads, and yelling their appalling war-whoops, they bore 
down upon us in overwhelming numbers. To add to 
our consternation, we heard the thundering tramp of a 


THE TERRIBLE AMB USCADE. 


127 


body of horse, in front and rear, rushing up to join our 
enemies and hem us in completely. 

Instead of surprising the enemy, as expected, we now 
found ourselves surprised in turn, and in the center of a 
terrible ambuscade, from which there seemed to be no 
chance for escape. Our design had doubtless been be- 
trayed ; but by whom I had no time for conjecture ; for 
what between the yells of the savages and the groans 
and curses from our own little band, many of whom 
were wounded and some seriously, the rearing and 
plunging of the horses, and my desire to do the best I 
could for myself and friends, I had no time for specula- 
tion. Two of the enemy’s balls had passed through my 
hat, one of them within an inch of my skull, and an- 
other through the sleeves of my frock, slightly grazing 
my arm, but fortunately without injury to myself or 
horse. 

“ Riddle them and tear out thar hearts!” shouted Car- 
son, in a voice that rose distinctly above the din of con- 
flict ; and, wheeling his charger, he dashed into the 
thickest of the fray, with that utter disregard to personal 
safety which Napoleon displayed at the far-famed bridge 
of Lodi. 

Determined to share the fate of Kit, whatever it might 
be, I called to Huntly to join me, and rushed my horse 
alongside of his. 

Now it was that I had an opportunity of witnessing 
that coolness and intrepidity, those almost superhuman 
resources and exertions, which had rendered the name 
of Kit Carson so famous. 

On every hand we were hemmed in, and every man 
among us was fighting valiantly for his own life and 
vengeance. There was no opportunity for cowardice ; 
no chance for flight ; retreat was cut off ; we must fight 
or die. All seemed to understand this, and used super- 
human exertions to overcome the foe. 

On all sides resounded hideous yells, and curses, and 
groans, and shouts, mingled with the reports of fire- 
arms and the clash of deadly weapons. 

Above the tumult and din I could now distinguish 


128 


THE TERRIBLE AMBUSCADE. 


the voices of Carson, the trappers and Teddy, showing 
that each was doing his duty. 

“Down, old paint-face !” cried one. 

“Take that and keep them company as has gone 
under afore ye !” shouted another. 

“No place here ior sich imps as you!” roared a 
third. 

“To the divil wid ye now, ye bloody spalpeens, for 
attacking honest, dacent white paples — ye murthering 
thaves of Sathan, yees !” yelled the excited Irishman, as, 
in all the glory of making a shillalah of his rifle, he laid 
about him right worthily. 

At this moment, when, in spite of the terrible odds 
against us, victory was almost ours, up thundered some 
thirty horsemen to reinforce our foes, revive their cour- 
age, and render our case terribly desperate, if not hope- 
less. 

“ At ’em, boys !” shouted Carson, apparently not the 
least disheartened ; and, driving his spurs into his horse, 
dropping his bridle-rein upon the saddle-bow, hurling his 
already broken and useless rifle at the heads of the near- 
est Indians, and drawing- his knife and tomahawk, he 
charged upon the new-comers, seemingly with as much 
confidence in his success as if backed by a whole bat- 
talion. 

No wonder Kit Carson was famous, for he seemed to 
be a whole army in himself. 

Side by side with Huntly I fought, with the despera- 
tion of a madman, and performed feats which astonished 
even myself. Thrice did I find my bridle-rein seized, 
and thought that all was over ; but each time, by some 
inexplicable means, my path was cleared, and I still 
remained unharmed. 

For ten minutes did the fierce contest continue, dur- 
ing which time many of our foes had been killed or dis- 
abled, and six of our own gallant band had gone from 
among the living. 

Still the savages pressed around us, and I now found 
my situation growing more and more desperate. 

From over-exertion I began to feel weak ; and my 
gallant steed, having been less fortunate than I, was 


A STRANGE A WAKENING. 


129 


already staggering under his wounds. A few more 
painful efforts to bear down upon his foes, and he reeled, 
dropped upon his knees, tried to recover, failed, and at 
last rolled over upon his side and expired. 

As he went down I leaped from his back and instantly 
found myself surrounded by savages. 

Striking right and left, I shouted to Huntly, and in a 
moment he charged to my rescue. 

By our united exertions we managed fora moment or 
two to maintain our ground. 

But the strength of both of us was failing rapidly, and 
I now found myself bleeding from numerous wounds. 

A few stabs and a musket shot killed the horse of my 
friend, who was by this means brought to the same des- 
perate strait as myself. 

“ It is all over, Frank !” he groaned, as a blow on the 
head staggered him back against me. 

“Never say die !” I shouted, as with my remaining 
strength I sprung forward and struck down his assail- 
ant. 

A blow on the back of my neck now brought me to 
my knees. With a great effort I staggered to my feet, 
only to see my friend struck down and be felled senseless 
to the earth myself. 


CHAPTER XV. 

A STRANGE AWAKENING. 

HEN consciousness was again restored, I found 
myself lying on a pallet of skins, in a small, 
rude cabin, curiously constructed of sticks, 
leaves, earth, and a few hides of buffalo. 

The first sensation was one of painful con- 
fusion. I felt much as one does on awaking from a 
troubled dream, without being able to recall a single 
6 * 



130 


A STRANGE AWAKENING. 


event connected with it, and yet feeling the effects of all 
combined. I was aware that either something terrible 
had happened, or I had dreamed it ; but what that some- 
thing was, I had not the remotest idea. The most I 
could bring to mind was a painful sensation of death. 
Perhaps I was dead ? Horrible thought ! I tried to rise, 
but could not — could only barely lift my head from its 
rude pillow. By great exertion I raised one hand a lit- 
tle — but the effort exhausted all my strength, and it fell 
back heavily, causing me the most excruciating pain. 

What did all this mean ? Surely I was not dead ! — 
for dead people, I thought to myself, feel no suffering. 
But where was I ? and how came I here ? and 'what was 
my ailment.? And then — strange thought — who was I? 
Laugh if you will, reader — but I had actually forgotten 
my own name, and for a moment could not recall a sin- 
gle event of my existence. I had a confused idea of 
having lived before — of having been somebody — of hav- 
ing experienced sensations both of pleasure and pain ; 
but, beyond these, all was blank and dark as a rayless 
night. 

Suddenly one remembrance after another began to 
flash upon me. My first youth — my school-boy days — 
my collegiate course ; and then, the train once fired, 
years and events were passed with the velocity of 
thought itself ; and, in one brief moment, everything, up 
to the time of my fall in the fight, rose fresh in my mem- 
ory. 

But still the mystery was as dark as ever, and my 
curiosity as much unsatisfied. How had the battle gone ? 
Were my friends the victors ? But no, impossible, or I 
should not be here. Had they all been killed or taken 
prisoners ? 

And Huntly — my friend ! Great Heaven ! the very 
thought of him made me shudder with dread. Alas ! he 
was dead. I knew it — I felt it. I had seen himTall, and 
of course he could not have escaped. Poor, poor 
Charles Huntly — my bosom companion — friend of my 
happier days ! The very thought of his untimely fate, 
cut off in the prime of life, made me groan with an- 
guish. - 


A STRANGE A WAKENING. 


131 

But where was I ? and how came I here? Why had 
I been saved and not my friend ? But it might be that 
he was dead ; while I, by showing signs of life, had 
been brought hither and restored to consciousness, only 
to be the victim of some oblation of thanksgiving to the 
imaginary deity who had vouchsafed the victory to my 
foes. 

Ay, this was the true, but horrible, solution of the 
mystery ! My friends were dead — my foes had tri- 
umphed — and for this (horrible thought !) I was about 
to be the victim for a heathen shrine. 

Was I alone ? I listened, but could hear no sound in- 
dicating the presence of another. Not satisfied with 
this, I turned my head slightly ; and in the center of the 
lodge, squatted on the ground, over a small fire, with a 
long pipe in his mouth, T beheld a little, old, dried-up 
man, whom, but for now and tlien a slight motion, I 
might have taken for a heap of clay, or an Egyptian 
mummy — so much did the skins, worn around his body, 
and his own shriveled and livid flesh, resemble either. 

Drawing in the smoke a couple of times, and puffing 
it out to the right and left, he arose and shuffled toward 
me. 

Curious to learn the object of such a visit, I thought 
it best to feign unconsciousness. Accordingly, shutting 
my eyes, but not so as to prevent my seeing him, I lay 
and watched his motions. 

He was a miserable and loathsome-looking being, the 
very sight of whom was offensive to me, particularly as 
I fancied him my surgeon and jailer, who would heal 
my wounds only to pass me over to the executioner. In 
height he could not have exceeded five feet, even in his 
palmiest days, and this was now much reduced by age 
and debility. He was thin and skinny, and his small, 
puckered-up visage bore the complicated autograph of 
a century. His head was bald, save a few white hairs on 
the crown, where had once been his scalp lock ; his nose 
and chin almost met over his toothless gums ; and, to 
complete, his trembling limbs and tottering frame ex- 
hibited a striking resemblance to the bony picture of 
death. Only one feature about him gave evidence of his 


132 


A STRANGE A WAKENING. 


being more than a mere walking automaton ; and that 
was his keen, eagle eye ; whose luster, apparently un- 
dimmed by years, still flashed forth the unconsumed fires 
of what had once been a mighty soul, either for good or 
evil. 

As he approached, he fastened his sharp eyes upon me 
with such intensity that involuntarily I let mine drop to 
the ground. When I raised them again, I found him 
occupied with some mysterious ceremony, probably an 
incantation to appease the wrath or adjure the aid of 
some imaginary spirit. 

Taking his pipe from his mouth, he blew a volume of 
smoke in a certain direction, toward which he pointed the 
stem of his pipe. This was done to the four cardinal points 
of compass ; and then a volume was blown upward and 
another downward ; after which he bent over me and 
went through a series of mysterious signs. Then taking 
one of my hands in his, he felt my pulse, during which 
operation I could see his face brighten with an expres- 
sion of internal satisfaction. Then his bony fingers were 
pressed upon my forehead and temples, and a single 
“ Onhchi !” which I interpreted from his manner to 
mean “ Good !” escaped through his livid lips. 

Thinking longer deception unnecessary, I opened 
wide my eyes and said : 

“ Who are you ?’' 

“ Cha-cha-chee-kee-ho-bah,” was the answer. 

Then, straightening himself as much as age would 
permit, he placed his pipe again in his mouth, and, turn- 
ing his face toward the door of the hut, struck the palms 
of his hand three times together, uttering, in a cracked 
voice, the two words : 

“ Leni Leoti !” 

Wondering what all this meant, I turned my eyes in the 
same direction ; and the next moment, to my astonish- 
ment, I beheld the beautiful form of the mysterious 
Prairie Flower enter from without. 

With a light, quick step, her face flushed with anima- 
tion and joy, she glided up to the decrepit old Indian, 
and, in a silvery voice, such as one might expect from so 


A STRANGE A WAKEAUNG, 


133 


lovely a creature, said a few words in a language I did 
not understand. 

Then, springing to me, she kneeled at my side, and, 
turning her eyes upward, her sweet lips seemed moving 
to an earnest prayer from a guileless heart. 

I no longer had any fears for my safety — for in such 
a presence, and with such an act of devotion, I knew 
myself safe. I was only afraid to speak or move, lest I 
should wake to find it all a delusive dream. 

But my desire to be assured of its reality would not 
long let me remain silent, and at last I said : 

“Sweet being, tell me the meaning of all I see?” 

“Friend, you must not talk,” she replied, in good 
English ; “ it will do you harm.” 

“ Nevertheless, fair creature, you must answer my 
question ! My curiosity is wonderfully excited, and 
silence will harm me more than conversation.” 

She turned and addressed 'a few words to the old 
man, who now approached her side and gazed down 
upon me with a mild look. 

His reply was apparently satisfactory ; for, looking 
full upon me again, she said : 

“You may be right, and I will answer. You were 
badly wounded in the fight*” 

“I am aware of that.” 

“ You were left upon the ground for dead.” 

“ Ha ! indeed ! But the battle — who won ?” 

“ Your friends were victorious.” 

“ Surprising ! What lucky chance of fortune gave 
them the victory?” 

“ A reinforcement.” 

“Indeed ! from where?” 

“Fort John.” 

This fort, now demolished, stood, at the time of which 
I write, about a mile below Fort Laramie, and was well 
garrisoned. From a mistaken confidence in our own 
abilities to win the day, we had neglected calling there 
for volunteers to augment our numbers and render our 
success more certain. 

“ And what brought them to cur aid so opportunely?” 
I inquired. 


134 


A STRANGE A WAKENING, 


Certain timely information.” 

‘‘ By whom conveyed ?” 

A friend to your race.” 

“ By the same messenger that brought intelligence of 
the enemy to Fort Laramie ? by your own dear self?” 

“ It matters not by whom. Let the result suffice.” 

‘‘ How shall I thank you, sweet Prairie Flower ?” 

“ For what ?” 

For all that you have done.” 

“ I need no thanks.” 

“ But I must be permitted to show my gratitude.” 

“Then do it by your silence.” 

“ I will ; and by my prayers for your safety and hap- 
piness.” 

“Bless you!” she exclaimed, fervently. “The only 
boon I would have asked, save one.” 

“ And what is that?” 

“ That you will not seek to know more of me and my 
history than I may choose to tell ; and that whatever 
you may see and hear that may seem mysterious, you 
will reveal to no one without my permission.” 

“ To please sweet Prairie Flower,” I answered, “ I 
will do as she requests ; though she must bear in mind 
that where so much interest is excited, the task imposed 
is not an easy one,” 

“ Then by adhering to it you will confer upon her the 
deeper obligation.” 

“Yet I cannot forbear one question.” 

“ Well !” 

“ Is Prairie Flower not of my race?” 

“ The judgment of the querist must answer him.” 

“ Will not you ?” 

“Not now — perhaps never.” 

“ I regret your decision, yet will not press the point. 
But to return to the battle.” 

“ What would you know ?” 

“ How it was won — how I came to be neglected — and 
why I am here !” 

“ A reinforcement, charging suddenly upon the 
enemy, alarmed and put him to rout. The victors 
pressed upon his rear, and left their killed and wounded 


A STRANGE AWAKENING. 


135 


upon the gory field. Before they returned, a few who be- 
held, but did not join in the fight, found you and another, 
in whom life was not yet extinct, and bore you both 
away.” 

“And — and — that other?” I gasped. “Was — was it — 
my friend ?” 

“ It was.” 

“ And he — he — is — alive?” 

“Ay, and doing well.” 

“ Thank God ! thank God ! A weight of grief is 
lifted from my heart. But where — oh, tell me quickly — 
where is he now ?” 

“Not far from here.” 

“ And all is owing to you ?” 

“ Nay, I said not that.” 

“ God bless you for an angel of mercy ! I must 
thank you — my heart is bursting with gratitude !” 

“Nay, spare your thanks to mortal! Thank God — 
not me — for I am only an humble instrument in His 
hands.” 

“ Mysterious being, who are you ?” 

“Remember your promise, and question not.” 

“ You seem more of Heaven than earth.” 

“ It is only seeming then. But I must remind you 
that you have now talked full long.” 

“ Nay, but tell me where I am ?” 

“ In the lodge of Cha-cha-chee-kee-ho-bah, or Old- 
Man-of-the-Mountains.” 

“ Is it he that stands beside you ?” 

“The same. He is ‘Great Medicine,’ and has cured 
you.” 

“And how long have I been here ?” 

“ Four days.” 

“ Good heavens ! you astonish me ! Surely not four 
days ?” 

“ Prairie Flower would not tell you what is not true,” 
said my informant, with a reproachful look. 

“ I know it, sweet being ; I do not doubt you ; I only 
intended to express surprise. Then I have been four days 
unconscious?” 

“ Ay, a week.” 


136 


A STRANGE A WAKENING. 


A week ?” I exclaimed, looking her earnestly in the 
face. A week, say you ? And was the battle fought a 
week ago ?” 

“ It was — a week ago last night.” 

“And pray in what part of the country am I now ?” 

“On the Black Hills.” 

“ Indeed ! And how far from Fort Laramie ?” 

“Not less than sixty miles.” 

“ And how was I borne hither?” 

“ On a litter.” 

“ By whom ?” 

“ My friends.” 

“ White men or red ?” 

“ The latter.” 

“And for what purpose ?” 

“ To restore you to health.” 

“ And what object could you or they have in bestow- 
ing such kindness on strangers?” 

“ To do good.” 

“ For which, of course, you expect a recompense ?” 

Prairie Flower looked at me earnestly a moment, with 
a sweet, sad, reproachful expression, and then said, with 
a sigh : 

“ Like the rest of the world you misconstrue our 
motives.” 

“Forgive me!” I exclaimed, almost passionately — 
for her appearance and words touched my very soul : 
“forgive me, sweet being! I was wrong, I see. On 
your part it was solely charity that prompted this noble 
act. But it is so rare that even a good action is done in 
this world without a selfish motive, that, in the thought- 
lessness of the moment, I even imputed the latter to 
you.” 

“ Perhaps that is why so few understand us !” she 
said, sadly. 

“You must be a very singular people,” I rejoined, 
looking her full in the eye. “ Will you not tell me the 
name of your tribe ?” 

She shook her head. 

“I told you before,” she answered, “you must not 
question me touching my history or tribe. Let it suffice 


A STRANGE A WAKENING. 


137 


that we are known as the Mysterious or Great Medicine 
Nation ; that to us all roads are free, and with us all 
nations are at peace. We war upon none and none 
upon us.” 

“ And yet do you not excite others to deeds you seem 
to abhor?” 

“ What mean you ?” she asked, quickly, a flush of sur- 
prise giving a beautiful glow to her noble features. 

“ Forgive me if I speak too plainly ! But was not 
your message to Fort Laramie the cause of a bloody bat- 
tle between the whites and Indians at Bitter Cotton- 
wood ?” 

“ The immediate cause of warrior meeting warrior in 
the game of death, most undoubtedly,” she answered, 
with a proud look and sparkling eyes. “ But do you 
not overlook the fact that it was done to save the inno- 
cent and defenseless? Were not the Indians gathered 
there in mighty force to prey upon the weak ? and was it 
not the duty of those who sought to do right to warn the 
few against the many? — the unwary of their hidden foe? 
Could Prairie Flower stand idly by and see defense- 
less women and children drawn into a fatal snare, and 
made a bloody sacrifice to a heartless enem}^ ? Had the 
pale-face so laid in wait for the red man. Prairie Flower, 
if in her power, would so have warned the latter. 
Prairie Flower did not call the red man there ; she 
regretted to see him there ; but, being there, she could 
do no less than warn and put the pale-face on his 
guard.” 

This was said with such a proud look of conscious 
rectitude — an expression so sublime, and an eloquence so 
pathetic — that I could hardly realize I was gazing upon 
and listening to an earthly habitant I felt ashamed of 
my ungallant and unjust insinuation, and hastened to 
reply : 

“ Forgive me, sweet Prairie Flower, for having again 
wronged you ! for having again done you injustice ! 
But, "as before, I overlooked the motive in the act. I 
will strive not to offend again and wound your sensitive 
feelings by doubting your generous intentions. Are 
there many more like you, sweet Prairie Flower?” 


138 


A STRANGE A WAKENING, 


“ Our tribe numbers between sixty and seventy 
souls.” 

“Is this your fixed abiding place ?” 

“ Only for a time. Our home is everywhere between 
the rising and the setting sun. We go wherever 
vve think ourselves the most beneficial in effecting 
good.” 

“ Perhaps you are Christian missionaries ?” 

“ We believe in the holy religion of Jesus Christ, and 
endeavor to inculcate its doctrines.” 

“ Why then did this old man use mysterious signs ?” 

“ He is of another race and generation, was once a 
Great Medicine in his tribe, and cannot divest himself of 
old habits.” 

“ You seem riglitly named the Mysterious Tribe ; and 
of you in particular I have heard before.” 

“ Indeed ! When and how ?” 

I proceeded to detail briefly the story of the old 
trapper. 

She mused a moment and replied : 

“ I remember such a person now, methinks. He was 
found, as you say, with life nearly extinct. By careful 
nursing he was restored to health. But he seemed in- 
quisitive, and I employed the ruse of telling him his life 
was in danger, to hurry his departure, lest he might 
prove troublesome. I trust there was nothing wrong in 
that. But come, come — I have forgotten my own 
caution and talked too long by far. You need repose 
and silence.” 

“ But one thing more ! My friend ?” 

“You shall see him soon — perhaps to-morrow.” 

“ Oh, no ! say to-day !” 

“I cannot. To-morrow is the earliest. And so 
adieu ! Seek repose and forgetfulness in sleep.” 

With this she turned, and glided out of the apart- 
ment in the same noiseless manner she had entered it. 

The old man looked at me a moment, shook his head 
and trembling hands, turned, shuffled away to his fire, and 
I was left alone to reflect on what I had seen and heard 
and my present condition. 


INTERVIEW WITH PRAIRIE FLOWER. 139 


CHAPTER XVI. 

ANOTHER INTERVIEW WITH PRAIRIE FLOWER. 

is a painful thing to one who has never 
known sickness, to be confined day after day 
to his bed, racked with torture, debarred even 
the liberty of enjoying for a moment the 
bright sunshine and clear air of heaven, un- 
able perhaps to lift his head from his pillow, and yet be- 
holding others, flushed with health and happiness, com- 
ing and going as they please, and seeming to prize 
lightly all that he most covets. 

It is only on a bed of sickness and pain that we are 
taught to value as we should that greatest of all blessings, 
good health — a blessing without which all others are 
robbed of their pleasures ; for what are fortune and 
friends, and all their concomitants, to one that is borne 
down by a weight of bodil)^ suffering 1 True, these may, 
in a measure, minister to his comforts — for without 
money and friends, the sick bed is only a pallet of the 
most abject misery — yet all the joys arising therefrom in 
connection with health, are lost to the invalid ; and he 
lays, and sighs, and groans, and envies the veriest stroll- 
ing mendicant on earth the enjoyment of his strength 
and liberty. 

Such were my thoughts, as, hour after hour, from the 
disappearance of Prairie Flower, I lay and mused upon 
all the events of my checkered life up to that present 
time. 

Born to wealth, blessed with health, kind friends, and 
a college education, I might haye passed my whole life 
in luxurious ease, but for the restless desire for travel and 
adventure. Not a discomfort had I ever known ere my 
departure from the paternal roof ; and when I remem- 
bered that now I was thousands of miles away, in an In- 
dian camp of the wilderness, wounded nigh unto death, 
unable to rise from my pallet, solely dependent upon 



140 INTERVIEW WITH PRAIRIE FLOWER, 


stmngers of a savage race for my existence and the few 
favors I received, perliaps rendered a cripple or an in- 
valid for life — and reflected withal on how much I had 
sacrificed for this — my feelings may be better imagined 
than described. 

To what extent I was wounded I knew not, for I had 
neglected to question Prairie Flower on the subject, and 
I was now too weak to make the examination myself. My 
head, one of my arms, and both of my lower limbs, were 
bandaged in a rude way, and my weakness had doubtless 
been caused by excessive hemorrhage. From the manner 
of Prairie Flower and the old Indian, I was led to infer 
that the crisis of danger was past ; but how long it would 
take me to recover I had no means of ascertaining, nor 
whether I should be again blessed with the use of my 
limbs. Perhaps I might here be confined for months, 
and then only regain my wonted strength to find myself 
a cripple for life. 

These thoughts pained and alarmed me, and I looked 
eagerly for the return of Prairie Flower, to gain the de- 
sired information. But she came not ; and through 
sheer exhaustion I was at last forced to drop the subject ; 
while I strove to resign myself to such fate as He, who 
had preserved my existence as it were by a miracle, 
should in His wise dispensation see proper to decree. 

Then my thoughts turned upon Prairie Flower. 
What mystery was shrouding this singular and angelic 
being, that she feared to be questioned regarding her his- 
tory and tribe ? Was she of the Indian race ? I could 
not believe it. She seemed too fair and lovely, and 
without the lineaments which distinguish this people 
from those nations entitled to the name of pale-face. 
Might she not be a missionary, who, blessed with great 
self-denial and a desire to render herself useful while on 
earth, and yet too modest to avow it, had, at a tender age, 
gone boldly among the savages and labored zealously in 
her noble calling, to enlighten their dark minds and 
teach them the sacred truths of Christianity ? She had 
admitted that all believed in the doctrines preached by 
the Saviour ; and though she had not openly acknowl- 
edged, she certainly had not denied, my imputation 


INTERVIEW WITH PRAIRIE FLOWER. 141 

regarding the calling of herself and friends. This, then, 
was the best- solution of tlie mystery I could invent. 

But even admitting this to be true — that she was in 
reality of the Anglo-Saxon race, and a pious instructor 
who found her enjoyments in what to others would have 
been a source of misery — still it was a matter for curious 
research, how one of her age should have become so 
familiar with the language and habits of all the various 
tribes of the Far West ; and why, if she had friends, she 
had been permitted to venture among them alone and at 
the risk of her life. 

View the matter as I would, I found it ever shrouded 
with a veil of mystery and romance, beyond which all my 
speculations were unable to penetrate. 

Thus I lay and pondered for several hours, during 
which time I saw not a living soul, the old Indian 
excepted — who, having finished his pipe, sat doubled up 
on the ground by his smouldering fire, as motionless and 
apparently as inanimate as so much lead. Once, and 
only once, he raised his head, peered curiously around, 
him for a moment, and then settled down into the pre- 
vious position. 

Fixing my gaze upon him, and wondering what 
secrets of the past and his own eventful life might per- 
chance be locked in his aged breast, I at last felt my eyes 
grow heavy, the old man grew less and less distinct, 
seeming to nod and swim before my vision, sometimes 
single and sometimes double, and then all became con- 
fused and I we it off into a gentle sleep. 

How long 1 slept I am unable to say ; but an acute 
sense of pain awoke me ; when, to my surprise, I found 
it already dark, and the old man bending over me, 
engaged in dressing my wounds, and applying a kind of 
whitish linimeriL of a soothing and healing nature, pre- 
pared by himself and kept on hand for such and similar 
purposes. 

Some half an hour was he occupied in this proceed- 
ing, during which I suffered more or less pain from the 
removal of the bandages ; which, having become dry and 
stiff, adhered rather too closely to the affected parts. 

Thinking it useless to question him, I made no 


142 INTERVIEW WITH PRAIRIE FLOWER. 


remark, but passively suffered him to do as he pleased ; 
which he did, wdthout appearing to notice me any more 
than if I were dead and he performing the last office of 
sepulture. 

At length, the bandages being replaced, and my con- 
dition rendered as comfortable as circumstances would 
permit, he tendered me some light food and water, of 
wffiich I partook sparingly ; and then, with the single 
word, “ Onhchi,” and a nod of his head, he turned away, 
and left me to my meditations. In ten minutes I was 
again asleep. 

When I next awoke, the sun was streaming through the 
open doorway and crevices of the old cabin ; and, to my 
surprise, I found Prairie Flower again kneeling by my 
side. Her eyes were turned upward, as before, and her 
lips moved, but not a sound issued from them. She 
was evidently making a silent appeal to Heaven in my 
behalf ; and as I lay and gazed upon her sweet, placid 
countenance, and felt that all this was for me, I thought 
I had never beheld a being so lovely ; and she seemed 
rather an immortal seraph, bent at the Throne of Grace, 
than a mortal tenant of this mundane sphere. 

At length she arose, with a charming smile upon her 
features, and, in the sweetest tones imaginable, said : 

“ And how fare you this morning, my friend ?” 

“ I feel much refreshed,” I answered, “ by a night of 
calm repose, and my strength is evidently improving.” 

“ I am glad to hear it, for you have been nigh unto 
death.” 

“ I am aware of it, and know not how to express to 
you my deep obligations for my recovery.” 

“As I told you before, no thanks are due me. I did 
but my duty, and my own conscience has already re- 
warded me tenfold. Those who labor to effect all the 
good they can, need no thanks expressed in words, for 
words are superfluous.” 

“ And yet had I done for you what you have done for 
me, would you not have thanked me?” 

“Doubtless I should.” 

“ And will you not allow me the privilege you would 


INTERVIEW WITH PRAIRIE FLOWER. 143 


have claimed yourself? Would it have pleased you to 
find me ungrateful ?” 

“ I cannot say it would,” she replied, musingly ; “for, 
like others, I am only mortal ; and perhaps vain, too 
vain, of having what little I do appreciated. I should 
not have sueh feelings, I am well aware ; but they are 
engrafted in my nature, and I cannot help it.” 

“ Then even oral thanks cannot be displeasing to 
sweet Prairie Flower?” 

“ Understand me, friend ! There is a vast difference 
between expressing thanks and being ungrateful. That 
you are not ungrateful, your look and actions tell — 
therefore are words superfluous.” 

“ Well, then, I will say no more — but trust that time 
will give me an opportunity of proving by aefs what at 
best could be but feebly spoken. I agree with you, 
that words in a case like mine are of little importance. 
They are in fact ‘ trifles light as air,’ and as often pro- 
ceed from the lips merely as from the heart. But now a 
word of myself. Tell me, fair being, and do not fear to 
speak plainly regarding my present condition : can I 
ever recover?” 

“ Great Medicine has pronounced you out of dan- 
ger. 

“ Shall I ever regain the full use of all my limbs ?” 

“ I know nothing to the contrary.” 

“ And my wounds — what are they ?” 

“You were found with your head frightfully gashed, 
and your left arm badly bruised, apparently by the tread 
of a horse. Various other flesh wounds were found 
upon your person — made, seemingly, by some sharp 
instrument. These, together with loss of blood, pro- 
duced a delirious fever, from which kind Providence has 
restored you, as it were by a miracle. For a week, life 
and death contended equally as it seemed for the victory. 
Many a time have I stood by your side, and thought 
every breath you drew would be your last. I can only 
compare your critical condition to a person suspended 
by a mere cord over a terrible abyss, with a strain upon 
it so equal to its strength that another pound would 
divide it and render death certain, and thus and there 


144 INTERVIEW WITH PRAIRIE ELOWER. 


hanging seven days and nights ere a safe footing could 
be elfected on the solid earth above.” 

“ You draw a fearful picture, Prairie Flower. But 
my friend — did he know of this?” 

“Not fully. He knew you were badly wounded; 
but we gave him all the hope we could, lest, with his 
own wounds, the excitement should prove fatal to him 
also. As it was, he was often delirious, and raved of 
you, and accused himself of dragging you hither and 
being the cause of your misery, perhaps death. Had we 
informed him you were dead, I do not think he would 
have survived an hour.” 

“ God bless him for a noble fellow ! a true friend !” I 
cried, while tears of affection flooded my eyes. 

As I spoke, I noticed the countenance of Prairie 
Flower became suddenly crimson, and then white as 
marble, while she averted her head and seemed uncom- 
monly affected. 

What all this meant, I was at a loss to conjecture. In 
fact I did not give it much thought, for my mind was 
filled with the image of Charles Huntly, and I quickly 
added : 

“ Is he not a noble friend, sweet Prairie Flower?” 

“ He is indeed!” she exclaimed, looking at me earnestly 
for a moment, as if to detect a hidden meaning in my 
words, and then dropping her eyes modestly to the 
ground. 

“ But his wounds ?” 

“ He received two very severe contusions on the 
head, which rendered him insensible for several hours.” 

“And how is he now ?” 

“ He has so far recovered that he leaves his lodge, and 
occasionally takes a short stroll.” 

“ And has he not been to see me ?” 

“ No ! we would not permit him to do so.” 

“ And how did a refusal affect him ?” 

“ Quite seriously. But we told him that your life, in a 
great measure, depended on your being kept perfectly 
quiet ; and that, as soon as he could do so with safety, he 
should be admitted to your presence. He seemed to 
grieve very much, but uttered no complaints.” . 


INTERVIEW WITH PRAIRIE FLOWER. 145 


“ But you must let me see him now, Prairie Flower !” 

“ I do not know,” she answered : “ I will consult 
Great Medicine.” 

“ But, Prairie Flower !” I called, as she turned 
away. 

“ Well ?” 

“ Remember, I must see him !” 

“ But surely you would not endanger your life and 
his ?” 

“ Certainly not. But do you think such would be the 
effect of our meeting ?” 

“ I am unable to say, and that is why I wish to con- 
sult Cha-cha-chee-kee-ho-bah — or, as we often term him, 
Great Medicine. 

“ Go, then, and Heaven send I get a favorable an- 
swer !” 

Prairie Flower turned away, and, approaching the 
Old-Man-of-the-Mountains, held with him a short con- 
sultation. Then returning to me, she said : 

Great Medicine thinks it imprudent ; though, if 
you insist on it, he says you may meet ; but at the same 
time he bids me warn you both to be cautious, and not 
become too much excited, or the worst of consequences 
may follow.” 

“ I will endeavor to be calm, and see no cause why I 
should be more than ordinarily excited.” 

“You perhaps overlook, my friend, that a great 
change has taken place in the appearance of each of you 
since last you met ; and your system being in a feeble 
state, a sight of your friend may affect you more than 
you are now aware of. The greatest change, how- 
ever, is in yourself ; and I must prepare your friend to 
behold in you a far different person than he beheld on 
the night of the battle. I charge you beforehand to brace 
your nerves and meet him calmly !” 

Saying this, she turned and quitted the hovel. 

7 


146 


FALLING IN LOVE. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


FALLING IN LOVE. 



ALF an hour of the most anxious suspense 
followed the disappearance of Prairie Flower ; 
during which, in spite of myself, I suffered 
the most intense mental excitement ; my 
hands shook like the quaking aspen, and I 
felt both sick and faint. At the end of the time men- 
tioned, Prairie Flower appeared and announced that my 
friend would shortly be with me. 

“ But you seem agitated !” she added, with an expres- 
sion of alarm. 

“A mere nothing, I assure you,” I quickly replied, 
fearful she would alter her arrangement and put off 
our meeting to another day. “My hand shakes a little, 
perhaps ; but you see. Prairie Flower, I am quite com- 
posed — quite collected indeed.” 

She shook her head doubtingly, and was about to 
reply, when Huntly made his appearance and approached 
me with a feeble step. 

Heavens ! what a change in sooth ! A wild exclama- 
tion of alarm and surprise was already trembling on my 
lips, when, remembering the injunction of Praririe 
Flower, I by a great effort suppressed it. 

Could this feeble, tottering form approaching me, 
indeed be the gay, dashing, enthusiastic Charles Huntly, 
whom I had known from boyhood? His face was pale 
and thin ; his lips bloodless ; his eyes had lost much of 
their lustre, and moved somewhat nervously in their 
sunken sockets ; his cheek bones protruded, and his 
robust figure was wonderfully emaciated ; while the 
wonted expression of fire and soul in his intelligent 
countenance had given place to sedateness and melan- 
choly. To complete, his head was rudely bandaged, and 
his habiliments exhibited marks of the recent conflict. 
If such was his appearance, what, judging from the re- 


FALLING IN LOVE, 


147 


marks of Prairie Flower, must have been mine ! I shud- 
dered at the thought. 

As he came up, so that his eye could rest upon me, he 
suddenly started back, with a look of horror, threw up 
both hands, and exclaimed : 

“ Merciful God ! can this be Francis Leighton ?” 
and, staggering to my side, he dropped down upon the 
ground and burst into tears. 

“ Beware ! beware !” cried Prairie Flower, earnestly, 
her features turning deadly pale. “ Remember, Charles 
Huntly — remember my warning ! or you will do what 
can never be undone, and all our efforts to save you both 
will have been made in vain !” 

“ Charles,” gasped I ; “ Charles — Huntly — my friend 
— compose yourself, or you will destroy us both !” 

“ Oh, Frank ! Frank !” he rejoined, somewhat wildly; 
“ I never thought to see you thus, when in an evil mo- 
ment I urged you to leave home. Oh, why did I do it? 
Forgive me, my friend — forgive me — or I shall go dis- 
tracted !” 

“For Heaven’s sake, my friend, do not blame your- 
self ! I left my home by my own desire and free will. 
You are not to blame, any more than I. We could not 
foretell what fate had in store for us. Rather thank 
God, dear Charles, that we are both alive and likely to 
recover !” 

“ And you think, dear Frank, I am not to blame ?” 

“Not in the least.” 

“ God bless you for a generous soul ! Oh, if you 
could but know what I have suffered ! Tortures of mind 
beyond the strength of reason to bear.” 

“ I have heard so from the lips of our sweet benefac- 
tress.” 

“ Ay, sweet benefactress indeed ! God bless you, 
lovely Prairie Flower !” he added, passionately, suddenly 
turning his eyes upon her. “ If you are not rewarded in 
this world, I am sure you will be in the next.” 

At the first sentence, the face of the maiden flushed, 
and then changed quickly to an ashen hue, while her 
breast heaved with some powerful emotion. She strove 


148 


FALLING IN LOVE. 


to reply, but words failed her ; and, turning suddenly 
away, she rushed from the lodge, leaving us alone. 

“Angelic creature!” pursued Huntly, gazing after her 
retreating form with an expression of sincere admiration. 
“ A lily too fair to bloom in a region so desolate as this. 
But why did she leave us so abruptly, Frank ?” 

“ I cannot say, unless it was her dislike of praise.” 

“I could adore her, Frank, for her goodness! 
Where would we be now, think you, but for her timely 
aid ?” 

“ In another world, most probably,” I answered, 
solemnly. 

“Ay, truly in another world !” rejoined Huntly, with 
a sigh. “And you, Frank, if one may judge by your 
looks, are not far from there now. Merciful Father !” he 
continued, gazing steadily on me, while his eyes became 
filled with tears ; “ what a change ! what a change ! I 
cannot realize even now that I am speaking to Francis 
Leighton ! And this is the work of one short week ! Oh, 
how have I longed to see you, Frank ! How on my knees 
have I cried, begged and implored to be permitted to see 
you ! But I was denied — peremptorily denied — and now 
I am thankful for it ; for had I seen you in that uncon- 
scious state described to me by Prairie Flower, I fear I 
should have lost my reason forever, and the sods of the 
valley would soon have been green above my mortal re- 
mains.” 

This was said with an air and tone so mournfully, 
touchingly sad, that in spite of myself I found my eyes 
swimming in tears. 

“ Well,” I answered, “ let us forget the past, and look 
forward with hope to the future ; and return to Him — 
who has thus far watched over us with His all-seeing 
eye, and raised us up friends where we least expected them 
in our moments of affliction — the spontaneous thanks of 
grateful hearts !” 

In this and like manner we conversed some half an 
hour without interruption. 

As my friend had been struck* down at the same 
moment with myself, he was of course unable to give me 
any information regarding what had happened after- 


FALLING IN LOVE. 


149 


ward. Whether any of our friends had been killed or 
not, we had no means of ascertaining, and could only 
speculate upon the probability of this thing or that. 
What had become of Teddy? Had he survived? And, 
if so, what must have been his feelings when he found 
we came not to his call, and appeared not to his search ! 

This train of conversation again brought us back to 
Prairie Flower ; and each had to rehearse the little he 
had gleaned, and the much he had surmised, concerning 
herself and her tribe ; and in many points we found our 
conjectures to correspond exactly. 

“By-the-by,” I observed at length, “ it seems as if I 
had seen some face like hers before ; but where and 
when I cannot tell — perhaps in my dreams.” 

“ Indeed !” replied Huntly, quickly ; “ and so have I; 
but I thought it might be fancy merely — or at least that 
you would think so — and therefore kept it to myself.” 

“ Who, then, is the person ?” 

“ You have no idea ?” 

“None in the least” 

“ And if I tell you, and you see no likeness, you. will 
not ridicule my fancy ?” 

“Ridicule, Charles? No, certainly not. But why 
such a question ?” 

“You will understand that presently.” 

“ Well, then, the lady ?” 

“Have you forgotten the fair Unknown ?” 

“Good heavens! how like!” I exclaimed. “You 
are right, my friend— there is indeed a wonderful like- 
ness ! Perhaps But no ! the idea is too chimerical.” 

“Speak it, Frank — perhaps hat ?” 

“ I was about to add, perhaps they are related ; but 
that could not be.” 

“And why not?” asked Huntly. “Such a thing is 
not impossible.” 

“Very true — but most highly improbable, as you will 
admit. The beautiful Unknown we saw in New York; the 
beautiful Mysterious, if I may so term her, in the Far 
West : the former, perhaps, a daughter of fashion in the 
gay and polished circles of civilization : the latter among 


FALLING IN LOVE. 


150 

barbarians, a prominent member of a roving tribe of 
savages.” 

“ But you overlook that she could not have been bred 
among savages.” 

“And why not ?” 

“ Because her English education, manners and accom- 
plishments, all belie such a supposition. I admit with 
you that the suggestion advanced by yourself looks 
highly improbable — at the same time I contend as before 
it is not impossible.” 

“Well, at all events, Charles, you must admit it is 
utterly useless to argue a point founded solely upon 
speculation on both sides. We have no knowledge 
whatever of Prairie Flower upon which to found even a 
surmise, setting aside entirely that of the other party, and 
consequently must come out exactly where w'e started, 
neither of us the wiser for the discussion.” 

“ Nothing more true,” answered my friend, musingly. 
“ I would to Heaven I could learn the history of Prairie 
Flower ! Can she be an Indian ?” 

“ I think not.” 

“What a perfect creature ! and with a name as beauti- 
ful as her own fair self. Do you know, Frank, I — ” 

“ Well, speak out !” 

“You will not ridicule me?” 

“ No.” 

“ I am half in love.” 

“ With whom ?” 

“ Prairie Flower.” 

“ Indeed ! Well, that is nothing strange for you. I 
feel grateful enough to love her myself. But, Charley, 
you did not allow her to perceive any symptoms of your 
passion ?” 

“ Not that I am aware of. But why do you ask ?” 

“ Because it would offend her.” 

“ Do you think so ?” 

“ I am sure of it.” 

“And wherefore, Frank?” asked my friend, rather 
anxiously. 

“Wherefore, Charley? Why, I believe you are in 
love in earnest.” 


FALLING IN LOFF. 


. ^51 


“ Have I not admitted it ?” 

Only partially.” 

“ Then I acknowledge it fully.” 

But how about the Unknown ?” 

I am in love with her too.” 

“ Ay, and with every pretty face you meet. But surely 
you are not serious in this matter?” 

“ I fear I am,” sighed Huntly. 

“ But you cannot love either much, when you ac- 
knowledge to loving both.” 

“You forget the resemblance between the two. I 
could love any being, in the absence of the Unknown, 
who bore her likeness.” 

“ But, for Heaven’s sake, Charley, do not let Prairie 
Flower know of this ! for it would only be to make her 
avoid us and perhaps result in unpleasant conse- 
quences.” 

“ And yet, Frank, at the risk of being thought ego- 
tistical, 1 must own 1 have reasons for thinking my pas- 
sion returned.” 

“ Returned, say you ? Why, are you dreaming ?” 

“ No, in my sober senses.” ^ 

“ And what reasons, I pray ?” 

“ Her manner toward me whenever we meet, and 
whenever I speak to her. Surely you must have noticed 
her embarrassment and change of countenance when I 
addressed her last, ere ner hasty departure.” 

“I did — but attributed it, as I told you then, to a dis- 
like of flattery or praise to the face.” 

“I formed a different opinion.” 

“ Why then did you ask me the cause of her leaving 
so abruptly ?” 

“ Merely to see if you suspected the same thing — that, 
if so, my own fancies might have the surer foundation. 
Often, when she thought herself unnoticed, have I, by 
turning suddenly upon her, caught her soft, dark eyes 
fixed earnestly upon me, with an expression of deep, 
quiet, melancholy tenderness, which 1 could not account 
for, other than an affectionate regard for myself ; and 
the more so, that when my eye caught hers, she ever 
turned her gaze away, blushed, and seemed much con- 


152 


FALLING IN LOVE. 


fused. It was this which first divided my thoughts 
between herself and you, and awakened in my breast a 
feeling of sympathy and affection for her in return.” 

^‘You may be right,” I answered, as I recalled her 
strange manner of the day previous, when I spoke to her 
of my friend — and I proceeded to detail it to Huntly. 
‘‘But I am truly sorry it is so,” I added, in conclusion. 

“ Why so, Frank ?” 

“ Because it will only render her unhappy for life.” 

“What! if I—” 

“ Well, say on ! If you what, Charley ?” 

“ I was going to add — a — marry her,” he replied, in 
some confusion. 

“ Marry her ? Arc you mad, Huntly ?” 

“ Only a little deranged.” 

“Not a litle, either, if one may judge by such a 
remark. Why, my friend, you talk of marrying as if it 
were the most trifling thing in the world. You cannot 
be in earnest, surely ! and it is a bad matter for a jest.” 

“lam not jesting, at all events,” he replied. “But 
why not marry her, if we both love? Is there anything 
so remarkable in marriage ?”. 

I looked at him earnestly, to detect if possible some 
sly curl of the lip, some little sign which I could con- 
strue into a quizzical meaning ; but no ! the expression 
of his countenance was uncommonly serious — if any- 
thing, rather melancholy. He was sincere beyond a 
doubt, and the very fact kept me dumb with surprise. 

“ You do not answer,” he said, at length. “Perhaps 
5 ^ou do not believe in my sincerity ?” 

“Ay, too truly I do,” I rejoined; “and the very 
knowledge made me speechless. Why, my dear friend, 
what are you thinking of? You, the young, wealthy, 
aristocratic Charles Huntly, talking seriously to me of 
marriage 1 and that to a nameless Indian girl, of whose 
history you know nothing, and whose acquaintance you 
have made within a week ! What ! can this be the same 
wild, reckless schoolmate of mine, whose mind six 
months ago rarely harbored an idea beyond utteiiiig a 
jest or playing a prank upon some unsuspecting indi- 


FALLING IN LOVE. 


IS3 

vidual ? Surely you are not in your sober senses, Char- 
ley ! or else this is a land of miracles indeed.” 

“ I am not what I was,” sighed my friend, “though I 
believe I am not the less in my senses notwithstanding. 
That I was a gay, wild youth once, is no reason I should 
always remain one. To me there appears nothing re- 
markable that one whose life has been a scene of folly 
should become changed by the near approach of death. > 
I have suffered too much within the past week, both in 
body and mind, not to have had very serious reflections. 
As regards Prairie Flow^er, I acknowledge as before that 
I am totally ignorant of her history; that, as you say, I 
have known her barely a week; but I cannot forget that 
I am her debtor, both for my own life and yours. That 
she is a rare being, too good almost to grace a world so 
cold and uncharitable as this, no one who has seen and 
conversed with her as much as I have can doubt for a 
moment. Regarding marriage, I am very far from think- 
ing it a trifling affair — on the contrary, one of the most 
serious of a man’s life. It is an event to make or mar 
his happiness; and for that reason it should be considered 
with all due solemnity, and everything pertaining to it 
duly weighed, that nothing may afterward be found 
wanting. Had I proposed to you to unite myself with a 
lady of fine accomplishments and fortune, would you 
have asked the question if both loved ? if she were one 
to make me happy ? Probably not ; for her wealth would 
be the ‘ silver veil ’ to conceal all her defects. Should a 
man take the solemn vows of marriage to please himself 
or friends? Should he do so merely to make a display in 
public, and render his heart in private the seat of misery? 
Of what value is gold if it add nothing to a man’s hap- 
piness ? Riches are unstable, and often, as the proverb 
has it, ‘take to themselves wings and fly away.’ And 
then, to him who has made these his god — who has 
wedded them and not the woman — what is the result ? A 
few days of misery and an unhappy end. Do not con- 
clude from this, my dear Frank, that I have resolved to 
marry Prairie Flower; for until it was suggested by your 
own remarks, such a thought never entered my mind; 
and even now such a result is highly improbable. I 

7 * 


154 


FALLING IN LOVE. 


merely hinted at the possibility of the thing, to ascertain 
what effect it would have upon you.” 

“ Well, I am happy in knowing the matter is not so 
serious as I was at first led to suppose. Take my word, 
Charley, it is only a mere whim of the moment, which 
will pass away with a return of health and strength. 
When the body becomes diseased, it is not uncommon 
for the mind to be affected also; and though the idea you 
have suggested may seem plausible now — mark me ! you 
will yet live to think it preposterous, and to laugh at 
your present folly.” 

“Then, Frank, you think my mind unsound?” 

“ Not in a healthy state, certainly — or, with your 
quick sense of perception, you would have become 
aware, ere this, that, no matter how deep her love. Prairie 
Flower is one to reject even Charles Huntly.” 

“Reject me, Frank, say you? reject me?” cried 
Huntly, quickly, with a look of surprise. 

“ Ay, reject you — even you — the rich, educated and 
polished Charles Huntly.” 

“And why, Frank ?” 

“ First, because her proud, retiring nature would 
rebel at the thought of an alliance with one whom the 
world might consider her superior. Secondly, because 
her sense of duty would not allow her to depart from her 
tribe, to which she belongs either by birth or adoption ! 
Thirdly, and conclusively, because she is one who has 
evidently resolved to remain single through life. She is 
a girl possessed of a remarkable mind, which, once fixed 
upon a point, remains unchangeable forever. That she 
loves you, I now” believe ; that you return the passion, in 
a measure, you have acknowledged ; but that she would 
consent to leave her tribe and pledge herself to you for 
life, I believe to be a thing impossible.” 

“ You perhaps have reasons for thinking thus ?” ob- 
served Huntly, eyeing me sharply. 

“Nothing more than what I have gathered from 
noting her closely during the brief period of our ac- 
quaintance. I may be wrong, but time will show. At 
all events, my friend, I warn you, if you feel an increas- 
ing passion or affection for this girl, to suppress it at 


FALLING IN LOVE, 


155 


once, and leave the vicinity as soon as the health of both 
of us will permit.” 

“ I will think of it, my dear friend ; and, in the mean- 
time, do you watch Prairie Flower closely — as I will my- 
self — to learn if your surmises be correct ; and, should a 
convenient opportunity offer, fail not to use it to find out 

the true state of her feelings regarding myself. I 

But enough — she comes.” 

As he spoke, Prairie Flower entered the lodge to put 
an end to our conversation, lest harm might be done me 
by too much excitement. I now observed her narrowly, 
and saw there was a constraint in her manner, which she 
only the more exposed by trying to conceal it and appear 
perfectly natural. She gently reminded Huntly it was 
time for him to withdraw ; and though he strove hard to 
catch the soft glance of her dark, beaming eyes, yet all 
his efforts proved fruitless ; and pressing my hand, with 
a hearty “ God bless you !” and a deep, earnest prayer for 
my speedy recovery, he quitted the apartment. 

Asking me one or two questions regarding the effect 
produced upon me by my friend’s visit, and finding in- 
stead of injury it had resulted to my benefit. Prairie 
Flower bade me seek instant repose in sleep ; and prom- 
ising that Huntly should see me again on the following 
day, she turned, and, in a musing mood, with her head 
drooping, and her eyes bent upon the ground, slowly and 
with an air of sadness disappeared from my view. 

There was no mistaking it ; Prairie Flower was in 
love with my friend ; and I sighed at the thought that 
the hour of her friendship to us might prove the begin- 
ning of her own unhappiness. 


THE MYSTERIOUS TRIBE. 


156 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE MYSTERIOUS OR GREAT MEDICINE TRIBE,. 

IME rolled on slowly, each day adding some- 
thing to my convalescence, and the expiration 
of a month found me so far recovered as to 
venture on a short stroll in the open air. 

During this long period of confinement 
(it seemed very long to me). Prairie Flower and Huntly 
visited me every day, though rarely together, and to- 
ward the last my friend became an almost constant com- 
panion. 

Never shall I forget the emotions of gratitude and 
joy which I experienced on beholding once more the 
green leaves and blades, the bright flowers and glorious 
sunshine, feeling again the soft, balmy breeze of heaven 
upon my emaciated frame, and hearing the artless songs 
of the forest warblers. Earth, which for a time had seemed 
cold and dreary, now appeared changed to a heavenly 
paradise, and I could not realize I had ever seen it look 
so enchantingly beautiful before. In this I was doubt- 
less correct ; for never before had I been absent from it 
so long ; and the contrast between the grim, rude walls 
of my late abode, and all I now beheld, was enough to 
have put in ecstasies a far less excitable and enthusiastic 
individual than myself. 

The village of the Mysterious or Great Medicine 
Tribe I found to consist of some fifteen or twenty 
lodges, situated on the side of the mountain, overlooking 
a beautiful valley some quarter of a mile below, through 
which flowed a murmuring stream that formed one of the 
tributaries of the Platte. 

The cabins, though only temporarily erected, were 
very comfortable, and placed so as to form a complete 
circle, in the center of which stood the Great Medicine 
lodge of Cha-cha-chee-kee-ho-bah, where I had been con- 
fined ; and by which, as I now learned, I had been highly 



THE MYSTERIOUS TRIBE. 


157 


honored, inasmuch as not a soul besides its owner and 
Prairie Flower, unless by special permission, was ever 
allowed to cross its threshold. This accounted for my 
not having seen any of the tribe during my confinement 
in bed. 

The Great Medicine lodge, and one other, were dis- 
tinguished from the rest by their whitish appearance, 
done probably by a limish composition found on the 
mountains. This other was the residence of Prairie 
Flower, and two young, dark-skinned, black- haired, 
bright-eyed, pretty-faced, Indian girls, whose counte- 
nances and costumes bespoke intelligence and superiority. 

Among this tribe were some twenty females, as many 
children, and about thirty adult males, all of whom were 
decently clad, and clean and tidy in their appearance. 
Save Prairie Flower, but very few of them wore any 
kind of ornaments, and their dark, clear skins were notin 
the least bedaubed with paint.. Most of them spoke the 
English language, and some quite fluently ; and I ob- 
served many an old, well-thumbed book, generally a 
Bible, lying about their wigwams. In their intercourse 
with myself and friend they displayed a dignified cour- 
tesy, and not one of all the children did I ever observe to 
behave in a rude or unbecoming manner. 

They were, take them all in all, a remarkable people, 
and rightly named the Mysterious Tribe ; and, as far as 
I could judge, very zealous in the cause of Christianity. 
Three times a day did they collect for public devotion to 
the Great Spirit ; and their ceremony, though simple, 
was one of the most impressive I ever witnessed. It was 
in the following manner : 

At sunrise, noon and sunset. Prairie Flower and her 
two Indian companions would come forth from their 
lodge, arrayed in neat and simple attire, each bearing 
in her hand a kind of drum, or tambourine without the 
bells, and, approaching the Great Medicine I>odge, 
would arrange themselves in its front. Then bowing to 
the east and west, the north and south, they would beat 
the tambourines with their fingers ; whereupon the 
whole village — men, women and children — would hastily 
quit whatever occupation they might be at, and assemble 


THE MYSTERIOUS TRIBE. 


158 


around them, their faces expressive of the importance 
and solemnity which they attached to the occasion. The 
tambourines would continue to beat until all were gath- 
ered together, when a deep and impressive silence would 
ensue, during which each face would be turned upward, 
as if to solicit the Great Guardian of all to be with them 
in their devotions. Then the maidens would strike out 
into a clear, silvery song, and at the end of each stanza 
would be joined in the chorus by all of both sexes, young 
and old, during which each would kneel upon the earth, 
and continue there until the commencement of the next, 
when all would again rise to their feet. 

These songs, of which there were three, were trans- 
lated to me by Prairie Flower, at my request ; and I 
herewith give them — if not in language, at least in spirit 
and sentiment — commencing with the 

MORNING SONG. 

The day is up, the sun appears. 

That sun of many thousand years. 

And morning smiles through evening’s tears : 

Thanks! thanks! thanks! 

To Thee who made the earth and sky, 

The hosts that go revolving by. 

And all that live and all that die — 

God! God! God! 

CHORUS. 

Kneel! kneel! kneel! 

Oh, bless us, Spirit, 

That doth inherit 
The earth and air. 

And everywhere! 

And save us, Thou, 

To whom we bow, 

All humbly now. 

Our Great and Heaven!}’’ Father. 

The day is up, and through our sleep 
We’ve felt no visitations deep, 

And nothing wherefore we should weep; 

Thanks' thanks! thanks! 

Preserve us still throughout the day. 

Teach us to seek the better way. 

And never let us go astray — 

God! God! God! 


THE MYSTERIOUS TRIBE, 


159 


CHORUS. 

Kneel ! kneel ! kneel ! 

Oh, bless us, Spirit, 

That doth inherit 
The earth and air, 

And everywhere ! 

And save us. Thou, 

To whom we bow. 

All humbly now. 

Our Great and Heavenly Father! 

NOON DAY SONG. 

The day moves on and all goes well. 

More blessings now than we can tell. 

With gratitude our hearts do swell: 

Thanks ! thanks ! thanks ! 

Bless and preserve us still, we pray. 

With food and raiment line our way. 

And keep us to the close of day — 

God! God! God! 

CHORUS. 

Kneel ! kneel I kneel ! 

Father of Heaven, 

To Thee be given 
Unbounded praise. 

Through endless days ! 

And like the sun, 

In Heaven above. 

Pour on us now 

Thy warmth of love ! 

And may our feet 
Forever press 
The virtuous paths 

Which Thou dost bless ! 

To Thee all praise. Lord, God, our Father ! 


The noon-day breezes now go by, 

The forest gives a welcome sigh. 

The murmuring streamlets sweet reply: 

Thanks I thanks ! thanks ! 

The birds carol, the insects sing. 

And joy beams out in everything. 

For which all praise to Thee we bring— 
God ! God I God ! 

CHORUS. 

Kneel ! kneel ! kneel ! 

Father of Heaven, 


i6o 


THE MYSTERIOUS TRIBE. 


To Thee be given 
Unbounded praise, 

Through endless days ! 

And like the sun, 

In heaven above. 

Pour on us now 

Thy warmth of love ! 

And may our feet 
Forever press. 

The virtuous paths 

Which Thou dost bless ! 

To Thee all praise. Lord, God, our Father ! 


EVENING SONG. 

The da)-" is dying, wood and wold 
Are growing dim, as we behold. 

And night will soon us all enfold : 

Thanks ! thanks ! thanks ! 

That Thou the day hast kept us through, 
Taught each his duty right to do. 

And made us all so happy too — 

God ! God ! God ! 

CHORUS. 

Kneel ! kneel ! kneel ! 

All Heaven, and earth, and sea, and sky, 
Are marked by His All-Seeing Eye, 
Which will look deep into the riight. 

To note if eac;h one doeth right. 

And watch us in our dreams of sleep, 
On all our thoughts and actions keep : 
So may each thought, each deed we do. 
Be one that will bear looking through ! 

• And bless us. Thou, 

To whom we bow. 

All humbly now. 

Most great Lord, God, Almighty ! 

The sun hath set in yonder west. 

The beasts and birds are seeking rest. 

All nature is in sable dressed; 

Thanks ! thanks ! thanks ! 

Preserve us. Thou, till morning light 
Doth lift the sable veil of night ! 

May holy angels guard us right. 

Our sleep be sweet, our dreams be bright. 
And not a thing our souls affright — 

God ! God ! God 1 


THE MYSTERIOUS TRIBE. 


i6i 

CHORUS. 

Kneel ! kneel ! kneel ! 

All Heaven, and earth, and sea, and sky, 

Are marked b)^ His All-Seeing Eye, 

Which will look deep into the night. 

To note if each one doeth right. 

And watch us in our dreams of sleep, 

On all our thoughts and actions keep: 

So may each thought, each deed we do. 

Be one that will bear looking through ! 

And bless us. Thou, 

To whom we bow. 

All humbly now. 

Most great Lord, God, Almighty ! 

It is impossible for me to convey the sweet and 
plaintive melody which accompanied each song, and 
which, before I knew a word that was uttered, produced 
upon my mind, and that of my friend, the most pleasing 
and solemn etfect — particularly as we noted that each 
was accompanied with an earnestness and sincerity of 
manner such as I had rarely witnessed in Christian 
churches within the borders of civilization. 

At the end of each of these songs, and while the 
assemblage remained in the kneeling posture of the 
chorus, the Old-Man-of-the-Mountains would suddenly 
make his appearance, and hooping his arms before him 
and bowing, after the Turkish fashion, would utter a few 
words as a sort of benediction — whereupon all would 
rise, and each depart quietly to his lodge, or to his pre- 
vious occupation. 

The devotional scenes just mentioned were of every- 
day occurrence, when nothing of importance had trans- 
pired to elate the actors with joy or depress them with 
grief — in either of which events, the songs and manner 
of worship were changed to suit the occasion. 

With this people, a wedding or a funeral was a very 
important affair; and as I sojourned some two months 
or more among them, ere my strength permitted me to 
depart, I had an opportunity of witnessing both. 

As the former was the first in order of occurrence, I 
shall proceed to describe it first. 

The bride was an interesting Indian maiden, some 
seventeen years of age, and the groom a tall, athletic In- 


i 62 


THE MYSTERIOUS TRIBE, 


dian, her senior by at least five more. Both were becom- 
ingly decked with wampum belts, figured moccasins, 
and various ornaments worn around the neck and arms ; 
those of the maiden being bare below the elbow, and dis- 
playing her rich, dark skin to good advantage. Around 
the head of each was bound a wreath of ivy, diversified 
with a few sprigs of cedar, emblematical, as I was in- 
formed, of their love, which must ever remain green and 
unfading. 

The nuptial ceremony took place in the lodge of the 
bride, and was as follows : 

On the announcement that all was ready, a deputa- 
tion of maidens, consisting for the most part of Prairie 
Flower and her companions, surrounded the bride. 
Placing their hands on her head, they asked her several 
questions, pertaining to herself and lover ; the most im- 
portant of which were, if she truly loved him she was 
about to take forever, and thought that marriage would 
increase her happiness. Receiving replies in the affirm- 
ative, they commenced singing, in a low, melodious tone, 
the subjoined 

BRIDAL SONG. 

Blooming maiden, 

Heavy laden 

With new hopes, and jo)^s, and fears — 

Sad with gladness, 

Glad with sadness. 

Thou art going, young in years, 

To another. 

More than brother. 

Father, mother, 

Or aught other. 

Which among thy race appears. 

We have bound thee. 

As we found thee. 

With unfading green wreathed thee — 

Emblem fitting. 

Unremitting 

Must thy love forever be ; 

That thou ever 
Must endeavor 
Not to sever, 

Now, nor never. 

Bonds of time, eternity. 


THE MYSTERIOUS TRIBE. 


163 

Now go, maiden, 

Sweetly laden 

With all blessings we’ve in store — 

Take him to thee, 

Who did woo thee. 

Deeper love him than before ; 

God be sending 
His defending, 

Joy portending. 

Never ending 

Blessings on thee, evermore 1 

On the conclusion of this song, each of the singers 
laid her right hand upon the head of the bride, and com- 
menced dancing around her in a circle. This lasted 
some ten minutes, during which time a deputation of 
Indian youths — or what in any other tribe would have 
been termed braves — led forward the groom to within a 
few feet of his intended, and commenced a similar dance 
around him, accompanying it with a song, the same in 
sentiment, if not in language, as the one just given. 
This dance over, the youths and maidens fell back in two 
rows, facing each other, while the groom and bride 
modestly advanced, unattended, and took hold of hands. 

In this manner all quitted the lodge for the open air, 
where the villagers were drawn up to receive them, and 
who immediately formed a dense circle around them. 
Then, amid a deep silence, all kneeled upon the earth, 
and, rising, pointed their right forefingers to the sky, 
bowing to the four great points of compass. Then all, 
save the bride and groom, united in the following 


BRIDAL CHORUS. 

Joined in heart, and joined in hand, 
By great Heaven’s wise decree, 
Ye must ever so endeavor 

That ye ne’er may parted be — 
Never ! never 1 
So, forever. 

May Almighty Power bless ye, 

In your prime. 

And through all time, 

And on through all eternity. 


164 


THE MYSTERIOUS TRIBE. 


As the chorus concluded, the ring opened, and the 
Old-Man-of-the-Mountains made his appearance, bearing 
in one hand a long staff, and in the other a horn cup of 
smoking incense, which he wav’^ed to and fro. Approach- 
ing the bride and groom, he held it between them ; and 
then laying his staff on their heads, and bidding them 
again join hands, he proceeded to chant, in a feeble, 
cracked voice, the 

CLOSING MARRIAGE STRAIN. 

As this incense to Heaven, 

So your vows here are given, 

And written by angels above, 

On the ponderous pages, 

Of the great Book of Ages, 

And stamped with His great Seal of Love. 

By earth and by air. 

By water and fire, 

B}'^ evervthing under the sun- 
B)^ your own pliglued faith. 

To be true unto death, 

In God’s name I pronounce you twain one. 

Waving his stick once more above their heads, and 
uttering his usual word “ Onhchi,” Great Medicine re- 
traced his steps to his lodge. 

On his departure, the friends of the newly-married 
pair stepped forward, in the order of relation, and 
greeted both with a hearty shaking of hands and invoca- 
tions of blessings from the Great Spirit. 

Then followed a feast, prepared for the occasion, con- 
sisting principally of buffalo, bear and deer meat, to- 
gether with that of various wild fowls. This was eaten 
seated upon buffalo skins, and v/as served to the larger 
party by four waiters, two of both sexes. After this came 
one or two more songs, in wliich all joined, and a general 
dance closed the festivities of the day. 

The funeral which I witnessed was that of a young 
man greatly beloved by his tribe. The day succeeding 
his death was the one appointed for the solemn ceremony 
of sepulture. 

Meantime the body remained in the lodge where the 


THE MYSTERIOUS TRIBE. 


165' 

vital spark had been extinguished ; and, locked up with 
it, from all intrusion, remained also the near relatives of 
the deceased, fasting and employing their moments in 
prayer. 

When the time for the funeral service had arrived, 
four Indian youths, who had been companions of the de- 
ceased, entered the lodge, and, wrapping the body in a 
buffalo-robe, bore it to that of Great Medicine, and de- 
posited it on the ground outside. 

Hither followed the relatives, their heads bound with 
withered flowers and leaves, emblematical of the decay of 
everything earthly, however fair and beautiful. Forming 
a narrow circle around the body, they kneeled upon the 
earth, and, placing their right hands upon the breast of 
the departed, and their left upon their hearts, uttered low 
and plaintive moans, the signal that all was ready for 
the mournful rite. 

Next appeared Prairie Flower, with three other 
maidens, and, joining the youths, all clasped hands and 
formed a ring outside the circle of kneeling and weeping 
relatives. Then they commenced walking round the 
living and the dead, and, as they passed the head of the 
latter, each uttered a sliort prayer that his noble spirit 
might find eternal rest beyond the grave. 

When this was concluded. Great Medicine appeared, 
holding in his hand a drum, which he beat rapidly a few 
times, whereupon the remainder of the villagers came 
forth from their lodges and formed a third circle outside 
of all. The second circle now fell back to the largest, 
leaving a wide space between it and the mourners, who 
still remained kneeling as before. A short silence fol- 
lowed, when the leader of the corpse bearers stepped for- 
ward and set forth, in a clear, musical tone, the many 
virtues of the deceased, and pronounced an eloquent 
eulogy over his remains. 

On the conclusion of this, the speaker took his place 
among the rest, when all broke forth in the following 

FUNERAL DIRGE. 

Gone ! gone ! gone ! 

From earth gone forever : 


i66 


THE MYSTERIOUS TRIBE, 


No more here we’ll meet him, 

No more here we’ll greet him, 

No more, nevermore — 

All is o’er, evermore — 

Forever ! forever ! 

Re’s gone from the mortal — 

He’s passed Death’s great portal— 

And now will his spirit 
Forever inherit, 

In regions of bliss, 

What it could not in this. 

Passed from all sorrow. 

Vexation and care. 

Gone to the regions 

That bright angels share. 

In yon golden Heaven 
His spirit will rest. 

With joys the most holy 
Forever be blessed. 

Weep ! weep ! weep ! 

But weep not in sorrow : 

With tears bend above him — 

With tears show you love him — 

But weep for relief. 

Rather than grief — 

For to-morrow — to-morrow — 

Ye may join him in glory. 

To tell the bright story, ^ 

Of earthly denials, ^ t 

Losses and trials. 

Of unwavering faith. 

Of your joy to meet death. 

That your spirit in freedom 
Forever may roam. 

O’er the sweet vales of Eden, 

Your last lovely home — 

To join there in singing, 

. As bright angels do. 

The songs of Great Spirit, 

Eternity through. 

This was sung to a mournful tune ; and when the 
last strain had died away upon the air, all simultaneously 
dropped upon their knees, and bowed their heads to the 
earth, in token of submission to the Divine Will. 

Then they rose to their feet, mourners and all, and, 
forming themselves into two long lines, the four bearers 


THE MYSTERIOUS TRIBE. 


167 


proceeded to raise the corpse slowly and in silence. 
Then, preceded by Great Medicine, and followed by the 
maidens, the relatives and the rest, two by two, all moved 
solemnly forward to the last earthly resting-place of the 
dead — a rude grave scooped out in the side of the moun- 
tain, some forty rods distant from the village. 

Depositing the body in the ground, with all due rev- 
erence, the bearers threw upon it a handful of loose 
earth, and moved aside for the others to do the same. 
This concluded, the villagers formed a large ring around 
the open grave, when Great Medicine stepped forward 
to the center and chanted 

THE LAST DIRGE. 

Formed of dust 
The spirit spurneth, 

Back to dust 
The body turneth — 

But the spirit, 

Passed death’s portal, 

Doth become 
A thing immortal. 

Ye who mourn him, 

Be unshaken. 

That Who gave. 

Again hath taken — 

That the dead. 

Before ye lying. 

Made a happy 
Change in dying. 

And ye dead. 

Here rest in quiet 
Till ye hear 
The final fiat. 

That in voice. 

More loud than thunder, 

Shall command 

Your tomb asunder ! 

To earth we consign thee ! 

To God we resign thee ! 

CHORUS. 

Sleep ! sleep ! sleep ! 

The birds .shall carol o’er thy head. 

The stream shall murmur o’er its bed, 


i68 


THE MYSTERIOUS TRIBE. 


The breezQ shall make the forest sigh, 

And flowers above thee bloom and die — 

But birds, and stream, and breeze, and flowers, 

Shall joy no more thy sleeping hours. 

To earth we consign thee I 
To God we resign thee ! 

Farewell ! 

The chorus was sung by all with impressive solem- 
nity. On its conclusion, the four corpse bearers advanced, 
and with wooden spades buried the dead forever from 
the sight of the living. Then, two by two, in the same 
order they had come hither, the whole party returned to 
the village, and the day was spent in fasting and devo- 
tional exercises. 

The food of the Great Medicine Tribe consisted, for 
the most part, of meat of various wild animals, which 
they generally killed with rifles, together with a few fish, 
for which they angled in the streams. Sometimes they • 
planted and raised a small patch of corn, as was the case 
in the present instance ; but their roving life, as a general 
thing, led them to depend upon game and such vegetable 
food as chanced in their way. 

Among them they owned some fifteen horses, as many 
tame goats, which they milked daily, and twice the num- 
ber of mules. They also owned a few traps, and, when 
in a beaver country, did not fail using them to procure 
pelts ; which, together with buffalo and bear skins, they 
traded with the whites for such articles as they con- 
sidered useful. 

With them all property, with the exception of bodily 
raiment, was in common ; and each labored, not for him- 
self alone, but for his neighbor also. During the day 
their animals fed around the encampment, and in the 
valley at the base of the mountain — but at night all were 
driven in and yarded within the village. 

Never before had I seen a people appear so wholly 
content with whatever Providence might give them, and 
so perfectly happy among themselves ; and the time I 
spent with them, after I had become able to be abroad, 
however singular the statement may seem to others, I 
must account one of the most pleasant periods of my life. 


RESUME OUR JOURNEY. 


169 


CHAPTER XIX. 

PREPARING TO RESUME OUR JOURNEY. 

T was about the beginning of September, that 
I found my wounds so far healed and my 
strength so much restored as to think seri- 
ously of taking my departure. The air, too, 
on the mountains, was becoming cool and 
frosty ; and as my friend and I had decided on crossing 
to Oregon or California before the snow-storms of 
winter should entirely bar our progress, we thought it 
best to be on the move as soon as possible. 

During my stay in the village, I saw and conversed 
more or less with Prairie Flower every day, and noted 
with regret that her features gradually grew more and 
more pale, her eyes more languid and less bright, her 
step less elastic and buoyant, and that she moved slowly 
and heavily over the ground, with her head bent forward 
in a mood of deep abstraction. The cause of this I was 
at no loss to conjecture, particularly as I saw a studied 
effort on her part to avoid my friend on all occasions, 
and that, when they did meet, she ever exhibited toward 
him a coldness totally foreign to her warm, frank, open, 
generous nature. 

Huntly noticed her seeming aversion to him, with less 
philosophy than I had expected to see him display. In 
fact he became exceedingly troubled about it, and often 
told me, with a sigh, that he must have been mistaken, 
that she did not love him, but that it was me on whom 
her affections were placed. 

I contradicted him only so far as to say, that she 
cared no more for me than for him ; but I did not care 
to tell him the real cause of her coldness — for I saw it 
would only serve to inflame his passion, and, from what 
I could judge, render both the more unhappy. 

“fhat Prairie Flower loved my friend, and that too 
against her will, was to me as clear as daylight ; and the 
8 



170 


PREPARING TO 


anguish it must have cost her gentle heart, to avoid and 
appear cold and indifferent toward him, I could better 
imagine than realize. Several times had I been tempted 
to broach the subject to her, that I might learn from her 
lips the true state of her heart ; but the slightest allusion 
to my friend always produced such visible, painful em- 
barrassment, that I instantly abandoned the idea, and 
adroitly changed the conversation to something as foreign 
as possible. Of one thing I became satisfied ; and that 
was, that the sooner we took our departure, the better it 
would be for all parties ; for both Prairie Flower and 
Huntiy were becoming touched with a melancholy that 
I feared might lead to something more serious. 

Accordingly, as soon as I fancied my strength suffi- 
cient to encounter the fatigues of a perilous journey, I 
announced my intention to Huntiy, and wrung from him 
a reluctant consent to depart forthwith. My next move 
was to see Prairie Flower, and announce the same to 
her. 

As chance w'ould have it, I shortly discovered her 
just outside the village, taking a stroll by herself — 
a habit which had now become with her of daily occur- 
rence. Bidding my friend remain in the village, I hast- 
ened after, and presently overtook her ; but so deep was 
she buried in meciitation, that my steps, close behind, 
failed to rouse her from her reverie. 

“You seem lost in communion with your own 
thoughts, sweet Prairie Flower !” I said, in a cheerful 
tone ; “and were I bent on surprising you, I might have 
done so to good advantage.” 

She started, a slight flush suffused her pale features, 
and, turning her lovely countenance upon me, Avith an 
expression of deep surprise, she rallied herself for a 
reply. 

“ Really, I must crave pardon, Mr. Leighton ! but I 
was so engaged in reflecting on — a — various matters, 
that I failed to catch the sound of your footsteps.” 

“ I saw you were deeply abstracted, and would not 
have intruded on your privacy, only that I have a matter 
of some little moment to communicate.” 

“ Indeed !” she rejoined, turning deadly pale and 


RES UME O UR JO URN E Y. 


171 

trembling nervously : “ I trust nothing has happened to 
— to — any one ?” 

“ Give yourself no uneasiness, dear Prairie Flower ! 
I have only come to thank you, and through you your 
friends, for the kindness and unbounded hospitality of 
all to myself and Iluntly, and inform you that we are on 
the point of taking our departure.” 

For a moment after I spoke, Prairie Flower stood 
staring upon me with an expression of intense anguish, 
her breast heaving tumultuously, and apparently without 
the power to utter a syllable in reply. At length, placing 
her hand to her throat, as if she felt a choking sensa- 
tion, she fairly gasped forth : 

“Not — not — going — surely ?” 

“ I fear we must, dear Prairie Flower !” I answered, 
sadly — for I felt touched to the very soul at this unusual 
display of feeling and sorrowful regret at our departure 
— coming too from one to whom both Huntlyand I were 
under such deep obligations for the preservation of our 
lives and the many kindnesses we had received. “ We 
have intruded upon your hospitality too long already,” I 
continued, “ and have at last decided to depart imme- 
diately.” 

“ But — but — your wounds ?” 

“ Are nearly healed.” 

“ And your — your — strength ?” 

“ Sufficient for the journey, I think.” 

“ And whither go you ?” 

“ Over the mountains — to Oregon, or California, as 
the case may be.” 

“ But have you considered the dangers ?” 

“ Everything.” 

“ But the Indians may be in your path ?” 

“We must take our chances, then, as before. We 
have decided on taking a new route, however, and con- 
sequently will avoid all ambuscades.” 

“ Still there are ten thousand dangers on a new route. 
You may get lost, get buried in the snows of the moun- 
taiits, fair over some precipice — or, escaping all these, 
get captured by some roving tribe and put to the tor- 
tures.” 


172 


FREFAmNG TO 


“ There are many dangers, sweet Prairie Flower, as 
you say ; but had we feared to encounter them we should 
never have been here.” 

“ You have no horses !” 

“ We can purchase them at Fort Laramie, together 
with what other things we may need.” 

“ You have no companions !” 

“ We may find some there, also — if not, we can venture 
alone.” 

“ But — but — . You will go, then ?” 

“ I fear we must — loth as we are to part from you and 
your people, with whom (I w;sh not to flatter when I say 
it), some of the happiest moments of my life have been 
spent.” 

For some time Prairie Flower did not reply, during 
which her eyes were cast upon the ground. A look of 
deep sorrow settled over lier lovely features, and her 
bosom heaved with internal emotions. Raising her soft, 
dark eyes again to mine, I was pained to behold them 
slightly dimmed with tears, which she had striven in vain 
to repress. 

“ I did not think,” she said, with a deep sigh, “ that you 
would leave us so soon.” 

“ Soon, dear Prairie Flower? God bless your noble 
soul ! Soon, say you ? Why, have we-not been here two 
long months and more?” 

“True,” she answered, as I fancied a little reproach- 
fully, “ I had forgotten that the time must have seemed 
long to you.” 

“Nay, sweet Prairie Flower, I meant not that. You 
are too sensitive — you misconstrue me. I only meant 
that it was long for utter strangers to share your hos- 
pitality and trouble you with their presence.” 

“ You would not trouble us if you stayed forever,” she 
rejoined, with an air of such sweet simplicity, that, in 
spite of all my assumed stoicism, I felt a tear trembling 
in my eye. 

Prairie Flower saw it, and quickly added, with an 
earnest, tender look, which could only be realized by be- 
ing seen : 

“Oh, sir ! I fear I have wounded your feelings !” 


173 


RES UME O UR yo URNE Y, 

No wonder Huntly was in love, if he had ever seen 
anything like this — for, with all my philosophy and sober 
reasoning, I felt myself in a fair way of becoming his 
rival. 

“ God bless you. Prairie Flower !” I exclaimed from 
my very heart. “ If Heaven holds many like you, no 
wonder it is a Paradise beyond mortal conception.” 

“Oh, do not compare me with those who dwell in 
that bright realm !” she quickly rejoined ; “for 1 at 
best am only a poor, sinful mortal.” 

“Then God help me!” I ejaculated — ^'‘liyou are con- 
sidered a sinner.” 

“ But your — your — friend ?” she said, hesitatingly. 
“ Is — he — anxious to leave us ?” 

She strove to assume an indilference as she said this ; 
but the effort to do so only the more exposed her feel- 
ings ; of which, becoming aware, she blushed deeply, and 
on the conclusion hung her head in real embarrass- 
ment. 

“ No, dear Prairie Flower,” I said, appearing not to 
notice her confusion ; “ my friend is not anxious to leave; 
on the contrary, it was with much difficulty I could con- 
vince him of the necessity for our immediate departure, 
and gain his consent to set forth.” 

“ And wherefore, do you think, is he loth to go ?” she 
asked, carelessly turning her head aside, and stooping 
to pick a beautiful flower that was growing at her 
feet. 

“ Because sweet Prairie Flower goes not with him !” 
I answered, rather abruptly, curious to see what effect 
such information would produce. 

The next moment 1 regretted I had not hinted, rather 
than spoken, this important truth. As I pronounced the 
sentence, the hand of Prairie Flower, which was already 
clasping the stem of the flower in the act of breaking it, 
b^ame violently agitated and relaxed its hold ; while its 
owner, raising her face, as pale as death, staggered back, 
and, but for my support, would have fallen to the 
ground. 

“ Good heavens. Prairie Flower !” I exclaimed, throw- 
ing an arm around her slender waist, and feigning 


174 


RESUME OUR JOURNEY. 


ignorance of the cause of her agitation ; “ what has 
happened? Are you bit? or stung? Speak! quick! 
teli me !” 

“ A-a-little weakness — a-a-sudden weakness — a-a-kind 
of faintness!” she stammered, endeavoring to recover her 
composure, and evidently relieved that I had not im- 
puted her agitation to the right cause. “ I don’t know 
that I ever was so affected before,” she continued, smil- 
ing faintly. “ But I think it will soon pass away. I feel 
much relieved now. There^ there — thank you ! that will 
do. Quite sudden, was it not?” 

“ Quite, indeed !” I replied ; adding, mentally, “ Poor 
"girl ! how I pity you ! — your peace of mind is gone 
forever !” 

“ But you spoke of leaving immediately,” she re- 
sumed. “ What day have you set for your departure .^” 

“This.” 

“Not to-day, surely ?” she exclaimed, in surprise. 

“So had we determined.” 

“ But you must not go to-day !” 

“ And why not ?” 

“Oh, it is not right to leave us so abruptly ; and be- 
sides, I have reasons for wishing you to delay three days 
at least !” 

“ What reasons ?” 

“ I cannot tell you now ; but remain, and you shall 
know.” 

“Anything to please you, sweet Prairie Flower.” 

“ Then I have your promise?” 

“You have.” 

“Thank you! thank you! — you will not regret it. 
But come, let us return to the village — for I see the sun 
is three good hours above the hills, and I have a long 
journey before me.” 

“ What ! ^re you going to leave, then !” 

“ I must ! I have important business. But ask me 
no questions, and do not depart till I return.” 

Half an hour later. Prairie Flower, mounted on her 
beautiful Indian pony, as I had first beheld her at Fort 
Laramie, rode swiftly out of the village, unattended, and 
disappeared down the mountain. 


PARTING WITH PRAIRIE FLOWER. 175 


CHAPTER XX. 

FINAL PARTING WITH PRAIRIE FLOWER. 

HREE days dragged on wearily — for without 
Prairie Flower the Indian village seemed 
gloomy and dull both to Huntly and myself 
— and the fourth morning had come, and yet 
our fair benefactress had not made her ap- 
pearance. 

Where had she gone ? and wherefore did she not re- 
turn ? We questioned several of the villagers ; but all 
shook their heads and replied, some in good and some in 
broken English, that they did not know, that she was 
frequently absent a month at a time, and that she rarely 
told on leaving where she was going or when she would 
return. 

Perhaps, then, her journey was merely taken to avoid 
a farewell scene, thinking we should depart in her ab- 
sence ; and this I mentioned to Huntly, whose surmises 
I found corresponded with mine. 

“ She has done it,” he said, somewhat bitterly, “ to 
put a slight upon us, or rather upon me, whose presence 
lately seems most offensive to her ; and for myself I am 
going to leave — you can do as you like.” 

In this I knew my friend was wrong altogether ; but 
I did not contradict him — for, under the circumstances, 
I preferred he should think as he did, rather than be 
made aware of what, as I imagined, was the true cause of 
her actions. I therefore replied : 

“ Let us away, then, as soon as possible !” 

“Agreed.” 

Upon this we hastened to bid our Indian friends a 
long adieu. They seemed greatly surprised, and ex- 
pressed astonishment that we should leave so suddenly, 
without having given them a previous notice. 

Having gone the entire rounds, shook the dusky hands 
of each, young and old — Great Medicine not excepted, who 



176 FAINTING WITH PRAIRIE FLOWER, 


enlarged his small, dark eyes to their utmost, but merely 
grunted a farewell — and thanked each and all heartily 
for their hospitality and kindness to us as strangers, we 
prepared to set out at once for Fort Laramie. 

As the direct route was unknown to us, we inquired 
the way particularly — whereupon a stout, rather good- 
looking, intelligent Indian youth, volunteered his ser- 
vices to act as guide — a proposition which we readily 
and gratefully accepted, with a promised reward when 
we should arrive safely at our destination. 

It was a bright, clear morning, and the sun, just rising 
above the mountains, poured down his radiant light, 
gladdening the forest and our hearts with his presence ; 
and this, together with the bracing air, the freedom we 
fancied we were about to experience after our long con- 
finement, in being once more upon our journey in good 
health, produced such feelings of buoyancy and inde- 
pendence as we had not known for many a long day. 

Our guide had left us, as he said, to make prepara- 
tions for our journey, and we were already becoming 
impatient at what we considered his tardiness, when to 
our surprise he reappeared, mounted on one, and leading 
two horses, which he significantly intimated were at our 
service. This was a kindness we could fully appreciate, 
and of course felt no desire to chide him for his delay. 
Thanking him in unmeasured terms for his happy fore- 
sight in thus insuring us speed, and safety against 
fatigue, we mounted with almost as much agility as if we 
had never known a mishap. 

Waving a silent adieu to the villagers, who came forth 
in a body to see us depart, we turned our horses’ heads 
down the hill, and, setting forward, soon reached the 
valley, crossed the stream, entered the forest, and shut 
the Indian village completely from our view. 

“Well, Frank,” exclaimed Huntly, gayly, as with a 
spirited gallop we buried ourselves deeper and deeper 
within the forest of the valley, “ this seems like old times 
— eh ! my dear fellow ?” 

“ It does indeed !” I replied, in the same joyous man- 
ner, as I felt the warm blood of active excitement again 
coursing through all my veins. 


PARTING WJTH PRAIRIE FLOWER, 177 


Scarcely had the words passed my lips, when our 
guide, who was riding in advance, suddenly drew rein, 
brought his horse to a halt, and exclaimed : 

“ She comes !" 

Ere we had time to inquire who, we beheld, much to 
our surprise, the beautiful Prairie Flower dashing up the 
valley we were descending, directly in our front. Of 
course there were no means of avoiding her, had we de- 
signed doing so, and accordingly we rode slowly forward 
to meet her. 

As we advanced, I could perceive that her pale fea- 
tures looked unusually careworn, and that her lips were 
compressed as if by some inward struggle to appear en- 
tirely at her ease. 

As we met, she said, half in jest and half in earnest, 
while a slight flush tinted her cheeks and made her sweet 
countenance look lovely beyond description : 

“Good morning, my friends! Not running away, 
surely ?“ 

“ Why,” I answered, in someconfusion, “we have bid- 
den our friends of the village a last adieu, and are, as 
you see, already on our journey.” 

“ Indeed ! you surprise me ! And could you not 
have deferred your departure till my return ?” 

“ Why, the fact is — we — that is I — we waited three 
days — the time mentioned by you — and as we thought — 
that — as you had not made your appearance — that—” 

“ I would not return at all,” she rejoined, completing 
the sentence which my embarrassment forced me to leave 
unfinished. “ I truly grieve, my friends,” she continued, 
with a look of sorrowful reproach, “that, having known 
me so long, you should be led to doubt my word. Did 
I ever deceive you, that you thought I might again ?” 

“Never! never!” cried both Huntly and I in the 
same breath, while the conscience of each accused him 
of having done wrong. “ But as the three days had ex- 
pired,” I added, by way of justification, “and none of the 
villagers knew whither you had gone, we feared to tarry 
longer, lest the coming storms of winter should catch us 
on the mountains.” 

“ Perhaps, then, you were right, after all,” she said; 

8 * 


178 PARTING WITH PRAIRIE FLOWER. 


with a sigh. “ True, I did not return so soon as I 
expected, on account of an unforeseen delay ; and though 
I did request you not to depart till I came back, and 
though I fondly relied on seeing you again, still I must 
admit that your promise has been faithfully kept, and 
that you had a perfect right to go, and I none to think 
you would stay to your own inconvenience.” 

This was said in a tone so sad, with such modest sim- 
plicity, that, knowing the true state of her feelings, and 
remembering that to her generous nature and untiring 
watchfulness and care we both owed our lives, every 
word sunk accusingly into my heart, and I felt con- 
demned beyond the power of self-defense. 

For a moment I knew not what or how to reply, 
while Prairie Flow^er dropped her eyes to the ground 
and seemed hurt to the very soul. 

“Forgive us, sweet Prairie Flower!” I at length ex- 
claimed, to the promptings of my better nature. “ For- 
give us both, for having done you wrong ! I cannot 
exonerate myself, w^hatever my friend may do. I had 
no right to doubt you — no right to wound your feelings 
by leaving in a manner so cold, so contrary to the dic- 
tates of friendship and gratitude. But still, dear Prairie 
Flower, if you knew all my motives, you would perhaps 
blame me less than you do.” 

She looked up at tlie last words, caught the expres- 
sion of my eye, and seemed to comprehend my meaning 
at a glance ; for she colored deeply, turned aside her 
head, and quickly answered : 

“ I do not blame you. Let it pass. But whither are 
you bound ?” 

“To Fort Laramie.” 

“ I trust, then, I have saved you that journey.” 

“ Indeed !” I exclaimed, in surprise, as a new idea sud- 
denly flashed across my mind. “You have been there, 
then ?” 

“ I have.” 

“ And all for us ?” 

“ Except for you I do not think I should have gone 
at present.” 

“ God bless your noble, generous soul !” I cried, feel- 


PARTING WITH PRAIRIE FLOWER. 179 


ing more condemned than ever. “ How fortunate that 
we have met you, that we can at least make the slight 
reparation of apology and regret for having miscon- 
strued your motives ! What must have been your feel- 
ings, had you returned, your heart bounding with delight 
at having done us a service, and found we had repaid 
you by leaving in your absence, without even so much 
as thanks for your kindness !” 

“ I should have felt hurt and grieved, I must own,” 
she answered, quietly. 

“It is my fault. Prairie Flower,” said Huntly, riding 
up to her side. “Blame me for all, and not my friend ! 
To speak plainly, I fancied my presence was hateful to 
you ; and that you had gone away merely to put a slight 
on me, by avoiding me even to the last as you had 
avoided me all along.” 

“ You — you think this ?” cried Prairie Flower, turning 
upon him a look of anguish I shall never forget, and be- 
coming so agitated she could scarcely sit her horse. 
“You think this? Oh, no, no, no ! you did not, could not, 
think I intended to insult you !” and she buried her face 
in her hands and shook violently. 

“ Great Heaven ! what have I done !” cried Huntly, 
in alarm. “ Look up, sweet Prairie Flower ! — look up 
and forgive me ! If I thought so then, I do not think so 
now, and God pardon me for harboring such a thought 
at all ! But I could not understand why you avoided me, 
unless it was through dislike — in which case my absence 
would be little likely to cause a regret. I see my mis- 
take now ; and I am satisfied that, whatever your motive 
might have been, it was one which you at least felt to be 
right and pure.” 

“ Indeed it was !” returned Prairie Flower, raising 
her sweet, sad face, and her soft, dark eyes to his, and 
then modestly dropping her gaze to the ground. 

Huntly seemed about to reply, but paused and gazed 
silently upon Prairie Flower, who, again raising her 
eyes, and meeting a peculiar glance from his, blushed 
and turned her head quickly away. 

It was evident that both were getting embarrassed, 
and I hastened to relieve them by saying : 


i8o PARTING WITH PRAIRIE FLOWER, 


“ And what news from Fort Laramie, Prairie Flower ? 
What of our friends ?” 

“ I could learn nothing definite, save that eight only, 
of the sixteen with whom you went into battle, had re- 
turned ; and that the rest, including yourjelves, were 
supposed to have been killed or taken prisoners. One of 
the former, I think they called him an Irishman, had 
made great lamentations over you, declaring that the In- 
dians or wild beasts had destroyed you.” 

“Poor Teddy!” I sighed ; “he did indeed lov« us. 
But what became of him ?” 

“ He left, a few days after, with a party of trappers.” 

“ Then it may be a long time before we meet again, 
if ever. But do you think we can procure a regular out- 
fit at the fort ?” 

“ What do you require ?” 

“ Two good horses, a brace of rifles, plenty of am- 
munition, and three or four buffalo skins. By the way, 
this reminds me that we left our possibles at the fort, 
stuffed with clothes, which will now be of valuable ser- 
vice.” 

“ Come with me to the village,” rejoined Prairie 
Flower, “and we will talk the matter over.” 

“ Why, as we are so far on the way, it will only cause 
us unnecessary delay ; besides, we have spoken our fare- 
wells to all ; and turning back, when once started on a 
journey, is said to give bad luck.” 

“Yet I have but one observation to make to all your 
objections,” returned Prairie Flower, peremptorily ; 
“and that is, you must come with me !’ 

“ If you insist on it, certainly.” 

“Ido.” 

On this we turned, without more ado, and took our 
way back, wondering what new mystery or surprise 
would greet us next. 

The Indians appeared more rejoiced than astonished at 
seeing us again, and crowded around us, and shook our 
hands, with as much apparent delight as if we had been 
absent a month. 

^ “ What is the utmost limit of your stay with us, my 
friends?” inquired Prairie Flower. 


FARTING WITH PRAIRIE FLOWER. i8i 


“ An hour is the extreme,” I replied. 

Upon this she turned and addressed a few words to 
the young Indian who had volunteered to act as our 
guide ; and then bidding us dismount and follow her, 
she led the way into the lodge of Great Medicine. 

Making some excuse, she went out, and shortly re- 
turned, bringing with her our rifles and plenty of powder 
and ball. 

“ Now that you are going,” she said, “I will restore 
you your arms, with a sincere prayer that, with the aid 
of Heaven, they may prove sufficient to preserve your 
lives from your natural enemies, the savages and wild 
beasts.” 

Here was another unexpected kindness, and both 
Huntly and myself were profuse in our thanks. 

Prairie Flower then inquired the route we intended 
to take; and being answered that this would depend much 
upon circumstances, she advised us to cross the Black 
Hills some ten miles south of our present location, and 
hold our course westward over Laramie Plains, Medicine 
Bow Mountains, and the North Fork of Platte, to 
Brown’s Hole on Green River, where doubtless we 
should find many trappers, and perhaps some of our 
old acquaintances — giving as a reason for directing us 
thus, that there would be less danger from the Indians — 
who, notwithstanding our signal victory at Bitter Cotton- 
wood, still continued in parties along the regular Oregon 
route, killing the whites whenever they could do so with- 
out too much risk to themselves. 

Thanking Prairie Flower for her advice, I replied 
that, having reached Fort Laramie, it would be doubtful 
if we returned this way : that in all probability we 
should join some party of emigrants ; or, failing in this, 
take a middle course and run our risks. 

“ But I see no necessity for your going to Fort 
Laramie !” she rejoined. 

“ You forget. Prairie Flower, that we have no horses, 
and it would"be foolish at least to attempt such a journey 
on foot.” 

To this she made no direct reply, but went on sug- 
gesting various things for our convenience and safety. 


i 82 parting with PRAIRIE FLOWER. 


with as much apparent concern for our welfare as if her 
own life and fortunes were bound up in ours. 

At length the conversation slackened ; and thinking 
it a good opportunity, I declared that our time had ex- 
pired and that we must start forthwith. 

“Well, I will not detain you longer,” replied Prairie 
Flower, leading the way out of the cabin. 

To our surprise, we found at the door two beautiful 
steeds (not the ones we had just ridden), richly adorned 
with Spanish saddles, bridles and apishamores,* with two 
sacks of jerked meat hanging to the horns, and four 
large buffalo skins strapped on behind, while alongside 
stood the handsome pony of our fair benefactress, each 
and all ready for a start. 

“ What mean these?” I inquired, turning to Prairie 
Flower. 

“ Simply,” she answered, with the utmost na'iveti^ 
“ that you must accept from me these horses and trap- 
pings, without a word, and allow me to be your guide to 
the point where you will turn off to cross the moun- 
tains.” 

“ But, Prairie Flower — ” 

“ Not a word — not a single word — such are the con- 
ditions.” 

“ But we have money, and — ” 

“ Surely you would not insult me,” she interrupted, 
“by offering to payV' 

I saw by her manner that to say more would only be 
to offend ; and seizing her hand, I pressed it, with a 
hearty “God bless you !” while my eyes, in spite of me, 
became dimmed with tears. 

Iluntly was too deeply affected to speak at all, and 
therefore only pressed her hand in silence, during which 
the features of Prairie Flower grew very pale, and she 
was fvjrced to turn aside her head to conceal her emotion. 

We now comprehended all — why she had gone to 
Port Laramie, and had insisted on our return with her 
to the village — and as we recalled her former kindness 
and generosity, and our own base suspicions of herinten- 


* Saddle blankets of buffalo calf-skin, dressed soft. 


FARTING WITH PRAIRIE FLOWER. 183 


tion to slight us, the result was to make both Huntly and 
myself very sad. She had her revenge, we felt, and a 
noble one it was too. 

Mounting our horses, we again bade a silent adieu to 
the Mysterious Tribe, and, in company with Prairie 
Flower, quitted the village the second time, with more 
regret than the first, and took our way southward, in a 
direction almost opposite to our previous one. 

As we rode on, I noticed that our fair guide became 
exceedingly abstracted ; and that, when she fancied her- 
self unobserved, she frequently sighed. Poor girl ! she 
was laboring to suppress feelings, which, like the pent- 
up fires of a volcano, were preparing to rend the tene- 
ment which confined them ; and the very thought 
clouded my path with melancholy. 

Huntly, too, was abstracted and silent, so that little 
was said on the way ; and though everything above, 
around and beneath, seemed conspiring to make us 
cheerful, yet our thoughts only rendered our hearts the 
more gloomy by contrast. 

A ride of less than three hours brought us to a spot 
of the mountain that seemed of easy ascent ; when Prai- 
rie Flower drew in rein, and said, with a sigh : 

“ Your route lies yonder. Keep a little to the south 
of west, and avoid traveling after dark, or you may 
plunge over some precipice and be dashed to pieces.” 

Huntly now appeared too agitated to reply, and it 
was with difficulty I could myself summon words to 
my aid. 

“And so, dear Prairie Flower,” I at length articu- 
lated, “ we are to part here ?” 

“ I fear we must.” 

“ Shall we ever meet again ?” 

“God only knows!” she answered, trembling nerv- 
ously, and dropping her eyes to the ground. 

“To attempt to express our gratitude to you,” I re- 
joined, “ would be worse than vain; words could not 
speak it ; the heart alone can, and that you cannot see, 
only through external expressions. Of one thing, fair 
being, rest assured : that in the secret chambers of the 
souls of Francis Leighton and Charles Huntly is en- 


1 84 PARTING WITH PR AIR IP FLOWER, 


graved a name that will never be erased — that of the 
noble and generous Prairie Flower !” 

“ Say no more — I — I — beg of you !” she gasped, wav- 
ing her hand, and then placing it to her heart as if to still 
its wild throbbings. 

“ Prairie Flower,” said Huntly, in a tremulous voice, 
“ if I part without a word you may think me ungrateful. 
It is not so. Do not think so ! I — Could you know 
this heart — ” 

“No more — no more!” cried the other. “I see — I 
know — I understand all ! Too much ! too much 1 Go I 
go I I — Go ! and God’s blessing attend you both ! 
I—” 

She paused, and grasped the mane of her beast to 
save herself from falling. 

“Then farewell I” rejoined Huntly, riding up to her 
side and extending his hand. “ You will never be for- 
gotten by me ; and should we never meet again — then — 
farewell — forever !” 

Prairie Flower clasped his hand, but her own trem- 
bled violently and her lips refused to reply. 

The next moment, fearing doubtless the effect of a 
longer trial of her feelings and nerves, she turned her 
pony, and, signing me an adieu with her hand, dashed 
rapidly away, and soon disappeared from our view in the 
deep forest. 

Huntly sighed, but made no remark, and silently and 
slowly we began our ascent of the mountain. 

That night we slept on the brow of the Black Hills, 
at a point overlooking a large extent of the Laramie 
Plains. 


RENDEZVOUS OF THE TR AFTERS. 185 


CHAPTER XXI. 

RENDEZVOUS OF THE TRAPPERS. 


T was a beautiful morning, not far from the 
middle of September, that, ascending a hill, 
at the base of which we had encamped the 
night previous, we overlooked a charming 
green valley, completely shut in by hills, 
through the very centre of which, like a long line of 
molten silver, a bright stream took its devious course, 
r Not the least agreeable and enchanting to us was the 
sight of a few shanties, erected along the margin of the 
^ river, and the moving to and fro of several white human 
beings. And not the less pleasant the sight, that we had 
been some two weeks on a fatiguing journey of more 
than two hundred miles, over mountains, plains and 
rivers, without having seen a solitary individual except 
ourselves. 

The valley we now beheld, the point of our present 
destination, was a rendezvous for the trappers, hunters 
and traders of this part of the country, and known as 
Brown’s Hole. 

I have not described our journey hither, after part- 
[— ing from Prairie Flower, as but little of interest to the 
general reader occurred on the route. We had had the 
usual fatigue of travel, an occasional escape from a fatal 
plunge over some precipice, and had encountered one 
violent storm on the Medicine Bow, which had proved 
far more disagreeable than dangerous. 

Here, then, we were at last, in full view of what 
seemed to us a paradise ; and a simultaneous shout of 
delight, not only told our feelings, but that our lungs 
were still in good condition. 

“Well, Frank,” exclaimed Fluntly, with great anima- 
tion, “we are now in a fair way of coming in confcict 
with somebody besides Indians, and so let us down the 
mountain with all the haste possible !” 



ii 


1 86 RENDEZVOUS OF THE TR AFTERS. 

“ Here goes, then, for a race !” I cried ; and urging 
my noble animal forward, I dashed down the declivity, to 
the imminent danger of myself and horse, followed by 
Huntly in the same reckless manner, both shouting and 
wild with excitement. 

Reaching the base of the mountain, v/e galloped 
swiftly over the valley, and brought up at last in the centre 
of the encampment, where curiosity soon surrounded us 
with a medley of various nations and complexions, ail 
eager to learn wlio we were and what our business. 

Here we beheld Indians of different tribes, Spaniards, 
Mexicans, Englishmen, Frenchmen, Creoles, Canadians, 
together with Anglo-Americans from all parts of the 
United States. Some of these were trappers, hunters, 
traders, courreurs des hois and speculators in general — all 
congregated here to carry on the traffic of buying and 
selling — this one to make money, and that one to 
squander his hard earnings in gambling and dissipation. 
Already had the trade of the season opened, although 
the greater part of the trappers were not as yet “ in ” 
from the mountains with their furs, pelts, and robes. 

Outside of the shanties, of which there were some half 
a dozen — belonging, the principal one to the agent of the 
Hudson Bay Company, and the others to different traders 
— were built fires, around which groups of bronzed 
mountaineers were squatted, lost to all consciousness of 
the outer world in the exciting games of “ euchre,” 
“poker,” “ seven up,” and so forth. In one place was 
meat in the process of jerking, in another skins stretched 
over hoops for drying, while here and there was a rude 
block for graining, togeiher with various other imple- 
ments used in the fur trade. 

All these I noted with a hasty glance as I drew rein, 
and while the medley crowd was gathering around us. 

I looked keenly at each as he came up, but failed to 
recognize a single face, much to my disappointment, as 
I had been rather sanguine of here finding some of my 
old acquaintances. 

“ Whar from?” asked a tall, dark, athletic mountain- 
eer — eying us, as I fancied, a little suspiciously. 

‘‘Over the mountains,” I answered. 


RENDEZVOUS OF THE TRAPPERS. 187 


“Whar’s your traps and beavers?” 

“We have none.” 

“In jins raise ’em?” 

“We never carried any.” 

“Traders, hey?” 

“No.” 

“ What then ?” 

“ Adventurers.” 

“That’s a new callin’, s’pose ?” 

“That is ours, at all events.” 

“ Fine bosses you got thar.” 

“ Ver}^ good, I believe.” 

“Going to stop?” 

“ Tliink we shall.” 

“Well, ground yourselves, put your bosses to feed, 
and let’s see how you look.” 

Upon this we dismounted ; and, while doing so, 
Huntly observed : 

“ I say, friend, do you know most of the trappers ?” 

“ Know a heap — all I ever seed.” 

“ Did you ever see one, then, called Black George ?” 

“ D’ye ever see your own mother, stranger? Didn’t 
I used to trap with him fifteen year ago ? — and hain’t I 
fit him out of many an Injin snap ? Ef that ain’t knowin’ 
him, jest tell me what is.” 

“ Tliat is knowing him, certainly,” returned Huntly, 
smiling. “But have you seen him of late?” 

“Not sence two year come calf time. B’lieve he 
went over to the States, or some sich outlandish place or 
other.” 

“Then 1 have seen him since you.” 

“ Whar d’ye leave him ?” inquired the other, with in- 
terest. 

“ In an Indian fight at Bitter Cottonwood.” 

“I’dsw’arit. When Injins is about he’s always in, 
and a few at that, or I’m no snakes. But what become 
of him ? Hope he didn’t go under !” 

“ That is more than I can say, as my friend here and 
I were carried off from the field for dead, and have not 
been able to get the particulars of the battle since.” 

“ He didn’t die, I’ll bet my life on that ! Ef he did. 


1 88 RENDEZVOUS OF THE TRAPPERS. 


it’s the fust time he ever knocked under to sich var- 
mints.” 

“ I suppose, then, you have seen none who were in 
the fight ?” 

“ Never hearn on’t till now — so reckon I haven’t.” 

“We fondly anticipated meeting some of them here.” 

“ It’s like you may yit ; for ef they’re about in this 
part o’ creation, they’re sure to come. But turn out 
them critters, for they looks hungry, and make your- 
selves at home liere. And while I thinks on’t, ef you’ve 
got any bacca. I’ll trouble yer for a chawr.” 

As I had some of the desired article, I proffered it 
and received his warmest thanks in return. 

We now set about removing our saddles and other, 
appendages, and hoppling our horses ; while the crowd, 
having stared at us to their satisfaction, and found 
nothing particularly remarkable in our persons or equip- 
ments, gradually sauntered away, until we were left 
entirely to ourselves. 

Brown’s Hole, at certain seasons of the year, be- 
comes a place of considerable note, and presents many 
of the features of a western settlement on a holiday. 

It was interesting to us to note the avariciousness of 
the traders, and the careless indifference of the trappers 
in disposing of their commodities. 

Dropping in daiiy — sometimes singly, and sometimes 
in parties of from two to ten, loaded with pelts and furs, 
in value from one hundred to several thousand dollars — 
the latter would barter them for powder, lead, tobacco, 
alcohol, coffee, and whatever else they fancied, receiving 
each article at the most exorbitant price without uttering 
a word of complaint. I have seen powder sold to the 
mountaineers at the enormous sum of from three to four 
dollars a pint ; alcohol at double this price, the same 
measure ; coffee ditto ; tobacco two and three dollars 
per plug, and everything else in proportion. Money 
here was out of the question, as much as if it had never 
been in existence — furs, pelts and robes being substituted 
therefor. 

Here I witnessed gambling on every scale, from the 
lowest to the highest — from units to thousands — while 


RENDEZVOUS OF THE TRAPPERS. 189 


every doubtful or mooted point was sure to result in a 
bet before being decided. 

It was nothing uncommon to see a trapper “come in” 
with three or four mules, and furs to the amount of sev- 
eral thousand dollars, and, within a week from his arrival, 
be without the value of a baubee he could call his own — 
furs, mules, ritle, everything sacrificed to his insatiable 
love of gambling. 

The mountaineer over his cups is often quarrelsome, 
and an angry dispute is almost certain to be settled in an 
honorable way (?) — that is, rifles at thirty yards — w’hen 
one or the other (sometimes both) rarely fails to pay the 
forfeit of his life 

I had not been many days in Brown’s Hole, ere I wit- 
nessed a tragedy of this kind ; which, even now, as I re- 
call it, makes my blood run cold with horror. 

The actors in this bloody scene were two trappers of 
the better class, of intelligent and respectable appearance, 
neither of whom had seen over thirty years, and who, as 
a general thing, were of very sober and quiet habits. 
They were from the same part of the country, had been 
boys together, had started together upon their ad- 
ventures and perilous occupation, and were moreover 
sworn friends. 

Some three days after our arrival they made their ap- 
pearance, well packed with pelts and furs, which they 
immediately proceeded to dispose of to the traders. As 
their trip had been an unusually profitable one, they of 
course felt much elated, and, taking a drink together, sat 
down to a friendly game of cards, to while away their 
leisure hours. More strict in their habits than most of 
their associates, they rarely gambled, and then only for 
diversion. 

On the occasion alluded to, they at once began play- 
ing for liquor ; and having at length drank more than 
their wont, they proceeded to stake different articles. 

As the game progressed, they became more and more 
excited, until at last their stakes ran very high. 

One was peculiarly fortunate, and of course the luck 
of the other was exactly the reverse, which so mortified 


190 


RENDEZVOUS OF THE TEA PEERS. 


and vexed him that he finally staked all his hard earn- 
ings and lost. 

On this his companion took another drink, grew more 
and more merry at his own success, which he attributed 
to his superior skill in handling tlie cards, and finally 
bantered the other to put up his mules. 

No sooner said than done, and the result was the same 
as before. 

He was now, to use the phrase of some of the by- 
standers, who had crowded around the two to watch the 
game, “ Purty wall cleaned out.” He had staked all, 
and lost all, and was of course rendered not a little 
desperate by the circumstances. 

“ Why don’t you bet your body fixins ?” cried one. 

Like a drowning man at a straw, he caught at the 
idea, and the next moment he and his companion were 
deciding the ownership of his costume by a game of 
euchre. 

As might have been supposed, the result was against 
him, and he was at last completely beggared. Seizing 
the half-emptied can of 'liquor by his side, he drained it 
at a draught, and in a tone of frenzy cried : 

“ Somebody lend me somethin’ ! I must have my 
fixins back !” 

“ Luck’s agin ye now,” answered one. “ Better wait 
till another time.” 

“No! now— now — now!” he fairly screamed. “I’ll 
show Jim yet that I’m his master at cards any day he darn 
pleases ! Who’ll lend me somethin’, I say ?” 

None seemed inclined, however, to assist one so 
signally unfortunate ; and having waited a sufficient 
time, and finding his appeal likely to prove fruitless, the 
disappointed man rose, and in a great passion swore he 
would leave “such outlandish diggins and the heathenish 
set that inhabited them.” 

“ Whar’ll ye go?” asked his companion, in unusual 
glee. 

“ Whar no such scamps as you can find me !” 

“ But afore you leave I s’pose you’ll pay your debts ?” 
retorted the other. 

“ What debts ?” 


RENDEZVOUS OF THE TRAPPERS. 191I 


“Didn’t I jest win your body fixins?” 

“Wall, do you claim them, too? I thought as how 
you’d got enough without them.” 

“Claim all my property wliarever I can find it!” re- 
turned the other, more in jest than earnest. “ Of course, 
ef you’re goin’ to leave, so as I won’t see you agin, I 
can’t afford to trust.” 

“You’re a villain I” cried the loser, turning fiercely 
upon his friend : “ a mean, dirty, villainous thief, and a 
liar !” 

“ Come, come, Sam — them’s hard words !” replied the 
one called Jim, in a mood of some displeasure. 

“Wall, they’re true, you know it, and )''ou darn’t re- 
sent ’em !” 

“ Thunder and fury 1” cried the other, his eyes flashing 
fire, and his whole frame trembling with a newly-roused 
passion ; “ I dar’ and will resent ’em, at any time and 
place you please !” 

“ The time’s now, then, and the place hereabouts.” 

. “ And what the way ?” 

“ Rifles — thirty paces.” 

“ Enough !” and both proceeded to get their rifles and 
arrange themselves upon the ground — a spot some forty 
yards distant from the encampment — whither they were 
followed by a large crowd, all eager to be witnesses of a 
not uncommon, though often bloody, scene, as was the 
case in the present instance. 

Sefecting a level spot, the parties in question placed 
themselves back to back ; and then, having examined 
their rifles, each marched forward fifteen paces, and 
wheeled face to hi? antagonist. 

Sam then called out : 

“ All ready ?” 

“ Ready !” was the reply. 

“Somebody give the word, then !” returned the first 
speaker, and at the same instant both rifles were brought 
to the faces of the antagonists. 

For a moment a breathless silence succeeded, whicK 
was broken by the distinct, but dreadful, word : 

“ Fire !” 

Scarcely was it uttered, when crack went both rifle? 


192 RENDEZVOUS OF THE TR AFTERS. 


at once ; and bounding up from the earth, with a yell of 
pain, Sam fell back a corpse, pierced through the brain 
by the bullet of his friend. 

Jim was unharmed, though the ball of the other had 
passed through his hat and grazed the top of his head. 

Dropping his rifle, with a look of horror that haunts 
me still, he darted forward, and was the first to reach the 
side of the dead. 

Bending down, he raised the body in his arms, and, 
wiping the blood from its face with his hands, called 
out, in the most endearing and piteous tones : 

“Sam! Sam! — lookup! — speak to me! — it’s Jim — 
your friend. I did not go to do it ! I was mad, or 
drunk ! Sam ! Sam ! speak to me ! — for Heaven’s sake, 
speak, if only once, and say you forgive me ! Sam, why 
don’t you speak ? Oh ! I shall go distracted ! My brain 
seems on fire ! You know, dear Sam, I wouldn’t murder 
you — you — my friend — my dearly loved friend — the 
playmate of my childhood ! Oh, speak ! speak ! speak ! 
Oh, God ! speak, Sam, if only once ! It was the cursed 
liquor that done it. Oh, speak ! if only to curse me ! 
Oh, God ! oh, God ! he don’t answer me !” cried the 
wretched man, turning an agonized, imploring look upon 
the spectators, as if they could give him aid, and then 
wildly straining the dead man to his heart. 

“ He’ll never speak agin !” said one. 

“Oh, no! don’t say that!” shrieked the duellist; 
“don’t say that ! or I shall go mad ! I feel it here — here 
— in my head — in my brain ! I killed him, did I ? I 
killed him — murdered him — the only friend I had on 
earth? And you all stood and seen me do it ! Yes, I 
murdered him ! See ! see ! thar’s blood — his blood — I 
did it — ha, ha, ha !” and he ended with a maniacal laugh, 
threw himself upon the ground, and hugged the corpse 
of his friend to liis iicart. 

“ Poor feller !” said one ; “he’d better be took into 
one o’ the lodges, for he looks like he’d lost his senses.” 

“ No, no, no ! you shan’t — you shan’t part us!” cried 
the frenzied man, drawing his dead companion closer to 
his heart, as some of the party sought to carry out the 
suggestion just made. “ N o, no! you shan’t part us — never, 


RENDEZVOUS OF THE TRAPPERS. 193 


never, never! This is Sam, this is — Sam Murdoch — he’s 
my friend — and we’re goin’ a long jour-iey together — 
ain’t we, Sam? We’ll never part agin — will we, Sam? 
Never! never! — oh, never! — ha, ha, ha! Thar! 
thar !” he continued, dropping the body, rising to a 
sitting posture, and staring wildly at some imaginary 
object: “I see, Sam — I see! You’re in great dan- 
[ ger. That rock’s about to fall. But hang on, Sam — 
j hang on to that root ! Don’t let go ! Jim’s a-comin’. 
Oh, God ! who put that chasm thar — that mountain 
gorge — to separate us ? I can’t git across. Help ! help ! 
or Sam will die! Yes, he’s failin’ now! Thar! thar! 
he’s goin’ — down — down — down ! But here’s one will 
meet you, Sam. Cornin’ ! cornin’ !” and whipping out 
his knife as he said this, before any one was aware what 
i he was about, or had time to prevent him, he plunged it 
[ into his heart, and, gasping the word “cornin’,” rolled 
i over upon the earth and expired beside his friend. 

I had been a silent witness of the whole bloody, terri- 
ble scene — but my feelings can neither be imagined 
nor described. Speechless with horror, I stood and 
gazed like one in a trance, without the power to move, 

! and was only roused from my painful reverie by Huntly, 

* who touched me on the shoulder and said : 

“Come away, Frank — come away !” 

Complying with his request, I turned, and together 
j we quitted the ground, both too deeply affected and hor- 
j rifled at what we had seen to make a single comment. 

I The mountaineers, with whom such and similar 
I scenes were of common occurrence, proceeded to deposit 
[ the dead in a rude grave near the spot where they had 
I fallen. 

‘ They then returned to the encampment, to take 
a drink to their memories, coolly talk over the “ sad mis- 
hap,” as they termed it, and again to engage in their 
usual routine of amusement or occupation. 

In a week the whole affair was forgotten, or men- 
tioned only to some new-comer as having happened 
“some time ago.” 

Upon the minds of myself and friend it produced an 
impression never to be erased ; and, for a long time 
9 


194 


A PERILOUS JOURNEY, 


after the event, apparitions of the unfortunate trappers 
haunted my waking senses by day and my dreams by 
night. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

A PERILOUS JOURNEY. 

E had been a month in Brown’s Hole, without 
having seen or heard anything concerning 
our old acquaintances — during which time 
another mountaineer had been the victim of 
a quarrel, though his death we did not witness 
— when I proposed to Huntly to set forward at once, and 
leave a place so little adapted to our tastes and feelings. 

“But where do you propose going, Frank ?” inquired 
my friend. 

“ To California.” 

“ But can we find the way by ourselves?” 

“ We shall hardly find a place less to our liking than 
this, at all events,” I replied. 

“ But we are safe here, Frank.” 

“ I presume Charles Huntly does not fear danger, or 
he would not have ventured westward at all ?” 

“Enough, Frank! Say no more! I am your man. 
But when shall we start ?” 

“ What say you for to-morrow morning ?” 

“ Agreed. But perhaps we can hire a guide ?” 

“ We will try,” I rejoined. 

But our trial proved fruitless. No guide could be 
found, whose love of money would tempt him at this 
season of the year, to undertake the conducting of us to 
California ; while on every hand we w’ere assailed by the 
mountaineers with the most startling accounts of dangers 
from Indians, from snow, from floods, from storms, and 
from starvation. 

“ You never can fetch through !” said one. “ It’s a 
fixed unpossibility.” 



A PERILOUS JOURNEY. 195 

“You’re fools ef 3^ou undertake it!” loined in an- 
other. 

“ It’s like jumpin’ on to rocks down a three hundred 
foot precipice, and ’spectin’ to git off without no bones 
broke !” rejoined a third, 

“Ef you knows what’s safe, you’ll jest keep your 
eyes open and not leave these here diggins,” added a 
fourth. 

But these remarks, instead of discouraging us, pro- 
duced exactly the opposite effect, and roused our am- 
bition to encounter the formidable dangers of which all 
were so eager to warn us. To Huntly and myself there 
appeared something bold and manl)’- in attempting what 
all seemed to dread ; and to each and all I accordingly 
replied : 

j “ It is useless, gentlemen, trying to discourage us. 

I We have decided on going, and go we shall, at all 
I hazards.” 

“ All I’ve got to say then is, that it’ll be the last 
goin’ you’ll do in this world !” rejoined the friend of Black 
George, who seemed uncommonly loth to part with us. 

The next morning rose clear and cold — for the air in 
. this part of the country had become quite frosty — and, 

. agreeably to our resolve of the preceding day, we 
equipped ourselves and horses once more, bade our 
mountaineer friends adieu, and set forward in fine spirits 
— shaping our course, to the best of our judgment, so as 
to strike the southern range of the Bear River Moun- 
' tains, in the vicinity of the Utah Lake, which connects 
' with the Great Salt Lake on the north. 

To give our progress in detail, would only be to de- 
scribe a succession of scenes, incidents and perils, similar 
to those already set before the reader, and take up time 
and space w’hich the necessity of the case requires me to 
use for a more important purpose. I shall, therefore, 
content myself with sketching some of the most promi- 
nent and startling features of our route — a route suffi- 
ciently full of perils, as we found to our cost, to pul to 
the test the temerity and try the iron constitution of the 
boldest and most hardy adventurer. 

While in Brown’s Hole, we had succeeded in pur- 


196 


A PERILOUS JOURNEY. 


chasing of one of the traders, at a high price, a map and 
compass, which he had designed especially for his own 
use, and similar to those we had provided ourselves with 
on starting, but which, together with many other valua- 
ble articles, had been left in our possible sacks at Fort 
Laramie. 

On our compass and map we now placed our whole 
dependence, as our only guide over a vast region of un- 
explored country — or explored only by a few traders, 
trappers and Indians — Fremont’s celebrated expedition, 
which created at the time such universal interest through- 
out the United States, not having been made till some 
three or four years subsequent to the date of which I am 
writing. 

And here, en passant^ I would remark, that in deter- 
mining our course for California, we had particular 
reference to the southern portion of it ; for as every 
reader knows, who is acquainted with the geography 
of the country, or who has taken the trouble to trace our 
route on the map, we were already within the north- 
eastern limits prescribed to this mighty territory. 

Leaving the delightful valley of Brown’s Hole, we 
dashed swiftly onward in a southwesterly direction ; and 
our horses being in fine traveling order, we were enabled 
to pass over a long stretch of beautiful country, and 
camp at the close of day on the banks of a stream known 
as Ashley’s Fork. 

Crossing this the next morning, we continued on the 
same course as the day previous, and night found us 
safely lodged in the Uintah Fort— a solitary trading post 
in the wilderness — which was then garrisoned by Span- 
iards and Canadians, with a sprinkling of several other 
nations, together with Indian women, wives of the 
traders and hunters, who comprised the whole female 
department. 

Here we sought to procure a guide ; but with the 
same success as before — not one caring to risk his life 
by an experiment so fool-hardy as undertaking a journey 
of many hundred miles, with a force so small, over a 
pathless region of territory, either peopled not at all or 
^ by hostile tribes of savages. 


A PERILOUS JOURNEY. 


197 


The accounts we received from all quarters of the 
dangers before us, were certainly enough to have intimi- 
dated and changed the designs of any less Venturesome 
than we, and less firmly fixed in a foolish determination 
to push to the end what at best could only be termed a 
wild, boyish freak. But, as I said before,- our ambition 
was roused to perform what all were afraid to dare ; and 
we pressed onward, as reckless of consequences as though 
we knew our lives especially guaranteed to us for a 
term of years beyond the present by a Power from on 
high. I have often since looked back upon this period, 
and shuddered at the thought of what we then dared ; 
and I can now only account for our temerity, our in- 
difference to the warnings we received, as resulting from 
a species of insanity. 

A travel of some two or three days brought us to the 
stream called the Spanish Fork ; and pushing down this, 
through a wild gorge in the Wahsatch Mountains, we 
encamped the day following on its broad, fertile bottoms, 
near its junction with, and in full view of, the Utah Lake. 

We were now in the country of the Utahs, a tribe of 
Indians particularly hostile to small parties of whites, 
and the utmost caution was necessary to avoid falling 
into their clutches. On either hand, walling the valley 
on the right and left, rose wild, rugged, frowning cliffs, 
and peaks of mountains, lifting their heads far heaven- 
ward, covered with eternal snows. 

At this particular spot was good grazing for our 
horses ; but judging by the appearance of the country 
around us, and the information we had received from the 
mountaineers, we were about to enter a sterile region, 
with little or no vegetation — in many places devoid of 
water and game (our main dependence for subsistence) 
— peopled, if at all, by the Diggers only — an animal of the 
human species the very lowest in the scale of intellect — 
in fact scarcely removed from the brute creation — who 
subsist upon what few roots, lizards and reptiles they can 
gather from the mountains — sometimes in small parties 
of three and fo’ir, and sometimes in numbers — and who, 
being perfect cannibals in their habits, would not fail to 
destroy us if possible, if for nothing else than to feast 


198 


A PERILOUS JOURNEY. 


upon our carcasses. Take into consideration, too, our edu- 
cation — our luxurious habits through life — our inability 
to contend with numbers — that the only benefit we could 
derive from our expedition would be in satisfying our 
boyish love of adventure — and I think even the most 
reckless will be free to pronounce our undertaking fool- 
hardy in the extreme. 

So far we had been very fortunate in avoiding the 
savages ; but from all appearances we could not do so 
much longer ; and what would be the result of our meet- 
ing them God only could know. We were now on the 
borders of the Great Interior Basin, a region of country 
containing thousands on thousands of square miles, 
which had never yet been explored by a white man, per- 
haps by no living being! Should we make the attempt 
to cross it ? We could but lose our lives at the worst, 
and we might perchance succeed, and find a nearer route 
to Western or Southern California than the one hereto- 
fore traveled. There was something inspiring in the 
thought ; and the matter was discussed in our lone camp, 
in the dead hours of night, with no little animation. 

“What say you, Frank?” cried Huntly, the next 
morning, rousing me from a sweet dream of home. 
“ Westward ? or southward ?” 

“ Why,” I replied, “ there is danger in either choice — 
so choose for yourself.” 

“ Well, I am for exploring this region left blank on 
the map.” 

“Then we will go, live or die,” I rejoined; “fori 
long myself to behold what has never as yet been seen by 
one of my race.” 

The matter thus decided, we mounted our horses, 
and, keeping to the south of the Utah Lake, crossed 
a small stream, and about noon came to a halt on the 
brow of a high hill, forming a portion of the Wahsatch 
range. Below us, facing the west, we beheld a barren 
tract of land, with here and there a few green spots, and 
an occasional stream sparkling in the bright sunlight, 
which led us to believe there might be oases, at intervals 
of a day’s ride, across the whole Great Basin, to the foot 
of the Sierra Nevada or Snow Range, which divides it 


A PERILOUS JOURNEY. 199 

{ from the pleasant valleys of the Sacramento and San 
I Joaquin. 

It was a delightful day, and everything before us, 
i even the most sterile spots, looked enchanting in the 
i soft, mellow light. 

I Descending the mountain with not a little difficulty, 
we set forward across the plain, shaping our course to 
the nearest point likely to afford us a good encampment. 
But the distance was much furtlier than we had antici- 
pated when viewing it from the mountain ; and although 
we urged our beasts onward as much as they could bear, 
niglit closed around us long before we reached it. 

Reach it we did at last ; and heartily fatigued with 
our day’s work, we hoppled our horses, and, without 
kindling a fire, or eating a morsel of food, rolled our- 
selves in our robes of buffalo and fell asleep. 

The sun of the succeeding morning, shining brightly 
in our faces, awoke us ; and, springing to our feet, we 
gazed around with mingled sensations of awe and de- 
light. Doubtless we felt, in a small degree, the emotions 
I excited in the breast of the adventurer, when for the first 
i time he finds himself on ground which he fancies has 
never yet been trod nor seen by a stranger. We had 
entered a country now which the most daring had feared 
or failed to explore, and we felt a noble pride in the 
thought that we should be the first to lay before the 
world its mysteries. 

The point where we had encamped was green and fer- 
tile, abounding with what is termed buffalo grass, with 
trees unlike any I had before seen, and with wild flowers 
innumerable. Like an island from the ocean, it rose 
above the desert around it, covering an area of a mile in 
circumference, and was watered by several bright 
springs. 

Turning our gaze to the eastward, we beheld the 
snowy peaks of the Wahsatch Mountains, which we had 
left behind us, looming up in grandeur ; Avhile to the 
westward, nothing was visible but an unbroken, barren, 
pathless desert. Here was certainly a prospect anything 
but charming — yet not for a moment did we waver in 
our determination to press onward. 


200 


A PERILOUS JOURNEY,' 


It will be remembered, that, on leaving the village 
of the Mysterious Nation, Prairie Flower had taken care 
to furnish us a good supply of jerked meat ; and this, 
by killing more or less game on our route, we had 
been enabled to retain in our possession, to be eaten 
only in cases of extreme necessity.; consequently we 
did not fear suffering for food so much as for water ; 
and even the latter we were sanguine of finding ere 
anything serious should occur. The only matter that 
troubled us sorely, was the fear that our noble animals 
would not be as fortunate as ourselves, and that starva- 
tion might compel them to leave their bones in the 
wildernesSj and thereby oblige us to pursue our jour- 
ney on foot — an event, as the reader will perceive, far 
more probable than agreeable. 

As we had eaten nothing the previous night, we now 
felt our appetites much sharpened. Looking around, in 
the hope of discovering game, my eye chanced upon a 
rabbit. The next moment the sharp crack of my rifle 
broke upon the solitude and the little fellow day dead in 
his tracks. 

Hastily dressing him and kindling a fire, we were 
already in the act of toasting the meat, when whiz-z-z 
came a dozen arrows through the air, some of them actu- 
ally penetrating our garments without wounding us, and 
others burying themselves in the ground at our feet. 
Springing up, with a cry of alarm, we grasped our rifles, 
though only one was loaded, and turned to look for the 
enemy. 

Upon a steep bluff, some thirty paces behind us, we 
beheld some fifteen or twenty-small, dirty, miserable- 
looking savages, with their bows and arrows in their 
hands, already in the act of giving us another volley. 

‘‘ Frank,” cried Huntly, “it is all over with us now.” 

“ Never say die to such inferior rascals !” I rejoined, 
more vexed than alarmed. “ Quick ! Charley — dodge 
behind this tree ! and while I load, be sure you bring one 
of them to his last account !” 

While speaking I ran, followed by my friend ; and 
scarcely had we gained shelter, when whiz-z-z came an- 


A PERILO US yO URNE Y. 


20 1 


Other flight of arrows, some of them actually piercing the 
tree behind which we stood. 

“ Quick ! Charley — they are looking toward our 
horses ! (These were feeding within ten paces of us.) 
There ! they are on the point of shooting them ! Take 
the leader ! For Heaven’s sake don’t miss — or we are 
lost !” 

As I spoke, the rifle of my friend belched forth its 
deadly contents ; and the foremost of our foes, who was 
just on the point of discharging an arrow at one of the 
horses, shot it at random, and, with a loud yell, fell head- 
long down the bluff, and was dashed to pieces on the 
rocks below. Several others had their bows drawn ; but 
on the fall of their companion they also fired at random, 
and, approaching the bluff, gazed down upon his 
mangled remains, uttering frantic yells of rage and 
grief. 

By this time my own rifle was loaded, and, taking a 
hasty aim, I tumbled a second after the first. The savages 
were now alarmed in earnest ; and retreating several 
paces, they just made their faces visible, apparently un- 
decided whether to retire or attack us in a body. This 
was an important moment ; but fortunately for us the 
rifle of Huntly was now again loaded ; and taking a more 
careful sight than before, he lodged the ball in the head 
of a third. This created a terrible panic among our 
enemies, who fled precipitately. 

Now was our chance, and perhaps our only chance, to 
escape ; for we knew nothing of the number of our foes, 
nor at what moment they might return with an over^ 
whelming force. Calling to Huntly, I darted to my 
horse and cut the tether-rope with my knife ; and so 
rapidly did both of us work, that in three minutes we 
were in our saddles and galloping away. 

As we turned the southern point of this desert island, 
we heard an ominous succession of yells, and, some 
forty rods away to the right, beheld a band of at least 
fifty Indians, of both sexes, together with some twenty 
miserable huts. This was evidently their village ; and, 
from what we could judge, they were preparing to renew 

9 * 


202 


THE TERRIBLE DESERT. 


the attack, as we had feared, when our appearance ap- 
prised them of our escape. 

To the best of our judgment they were Diggers, and 
on this oasis dragged out their miserable existence. Be- 
ing divided from us by a ridge, neither party had been 
aware of the proximity of the other until the discharge 
of my rifle at the rabbit. This, it appears, had alarmed < 
them and excited an immediate attack, from the fatal 
consequences of which kind Heaven had so providen- 
tially delivered us. 

We thought seriously of giving them a parting salute — 
particularly as they seemed to grieve so much for our 
departure — but on second consideration concluded we 
would reserve our powder and ball, not knowing how 
necessary to self-preservation these might yet become ; 
and so, taking off our hats and waving them a kind fare- 
well, we dashed away over the plain. 


\ 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE TERRIBLE DESERT. 

progress through the day was over an arid 
waste of calcareous formation, devoid of all 
vegetation, with the exception of a few tall, 
stiff, v/ire-like weeds, that grew here and 
there where the soil appeared a little moist 
and loamy. Deep ravines, or cracks in the earth, in 
some places to the depth of it might be a thousand feet, 
cut across the ground in every direction, and rendered 
everything like speed, or traveling after night, out of the 
question. 

These gullies, when very narrow, we forced our 
horses to leap — but frequently we had to ride around 
them— on account of which our progress westward was 
slow and tedious. 


THE TERRIBLE DESERT. 


203 


The sun here seemed at least twenty degrees warmer 
than on the highlands we had left behind us ; and not 
having come to any water, we began about mid-day to 
feel the oppression of a burning thirst ; while our well- 
fed and well-watered animals of the morning, showed 
alarming signs of experiencing the same sensation, by 
lolling their tongues, occasionally smelling the earth, 
and snuffing the dry air. Oh ! what would we not have 
given, even then, for a bucket of water, cool from some 
deep well ! 

VVe found no place to noon, and consequently were 
forced to push forward, in the hope of reaching an oasis 
for our night’s encampment. 

On, on we went, our thirst increasing to a great 
degree, while the sun rolled slowly down toward the 
west, and yet nothing around and before us but this same 
dull, arid waste. 

We no /V began to experience the effects of our rash- 
ness, and, if truth must be told, to secretly wish ourselves 
safely clear of our undertaking, though neither breathed 
a word to the other of the thoughts passing in his mind. 
Our horses, too, seemed very much fatigued, and required 
considerable spurring to hasten them forward. 

The sun had now sunk within an hour of the horizon, 
and yet the same cheerless prospect lay before us. We 
looked back, and, far in the distance, like a mole-hill, 
could faintly trace the outline of the oasis of our last en- 
campment' while beyond that the snowy peaks of the 
Wahsatch glistened in the sunbeams. Advancing a 
couple of miles, we found ourselves compelled to camp 
for the night, without water and with nothing for our 
horses to eat. 

What is to be done?” asked Huntly. “ We cannot 
long exist without water ; and our poor beasts are 
already suffering to an alarming degree, and will not be 
likely to hold out more than one day more at the most.” 

Well, I fancy by that time we shall come to a spot 
similar to the one behind us.” 

“ Then you think we had better go forward ?” 

“I dislike the idea of turning back. Besides, we 


204 


THE TERRIBLE DESERT. 


should probably fall into the hands of the savages, and 
death here looks full as tempting as there.” 

“ But our horses, Frank — poor beasts ! see how they 
suffer !” 

“I know it, and would to Heaven I could relieve 
them ! But we cannot even help ourselves.” 

“ Do you think they can go through another day like 
this ?” 

“ I am unable to say.” 

“ Oh ! it would be awful to be put afoot in this 
desert !” 

“ By no means a pleasant matter, I must own. But, 
my friend, this is no time to get alarmed. We have set 
out, after being duly warned, and must therefore make 
the most of the circumstances we have brought upon our- 
selves. If our horses die, we must use their blood to 
quench our thirst.” 

“ HeavenSj Frank,” exclaimed Huntly, startled with a 
new idea, “what if another day’s travel like this should 
still leave us in the bare desert with no haven in sight?” 

“ Why, I should consider our case nearly hopeless; 
but we will trust to having better fortune.” 

We now ate some of our meat, but with little relish, 
and, throwing ourselves upon the earth, at length fell 
into a kind of feverish slumber. A dew fell during the 
night which refreshed us in some degree. 

At the first streak of daylight we were again in our 
saddles, and found, much to our relief, that although our 
poor beasts had not eaten a morsel since the morning 
previous, they, like ourselves, were considerably invigo- 
rated by a night of repose. 

Setting forward again, as cheerfully as the circum- 
stances would permit, we traveled some two or three 
hours at a fast amble ; but now the sun began to be felt 
rather sensibly, and our beasts to flag and droop, while 
our sensations of thirst seemed increased ten-fold. If this 
was the case in the morning, what would be the result 
ere another night ? We shuddered at the thought. 

About noon the appearance of the ground began to 
change for the worse, which in spite of ourselves was 
productive of no little alarm. 


THE TERRIBLE DESERT 


205 


Gradually it became more and more sandy ; and an 
hour’s further progress brought us to a desert more 
barren than ever, where not a living thing, vegetable or 
animal, could be seen, over a dreary expanse, that;, for all 
we knew, might be hundreds of miles in extent. 

To add to the horrors of our situation, our horses 
were evidently on the point of giving out — for as they 
buried their feet in the white, hot sand, they occasionally 
reeled and seemed inclined to lie down — while our own 
throats, lips and tongues began to swell, and the skin of 
our faces and hands to blister and crack. I recaUed to 
mind the accounts I had read of bones being found in the 
great Arabian desert, and I fancied that many years 
hence some more fortunate traveler might so discover 
ours. 

Cheering each other as well as we could, we kept on 
for another hour, when the horse of Huntly reeled, 
dropped upon his knees, and fell over upon his side. 

“ Oh, God !” cried my friend, in despair ; “ we are 
lost ! — we are lost ! — and such a death !” 

“Our last liope is here !’’ I rejoined, dismountingand 
plunging my knife into the dying beast ; and as the warm 
blood spouted forth, we placed our parched lips to it, and 
drank with a greediness we had never felt nor displayed 
for anything before. 

This gave us no little relief for the time, and added 
vigor to our already drooping and weakened frames. 
But what could it avail us ? It might relieve us now — 
might prolong our lives for a few hours — only to go 
through the same terrible tortures and find death at last. 
Unless we could reach a spring by another day’s travel, 
or come in sight of one, our case was certainly hopeless ; 
and to carry us forward we now had nothing to depend 
on but our own limbs and strength, while our path must 
be over a bed of hot, loose sand, where every step would 
be buried ankle deep. 

“ Well, Frank,” sighed Huntly, at length, “ what are 
we to do now ? I suppose we may as well die here as 
elsewhere.” 

“No— not here, my friend ; we will make one trial 
more at least.” 


2o6 


THE TERRIBLE DESERT. 


“ And have we any prospect, think you, of saving our 
lives ? of seeing another green spot ?” 

“ Why, you remember, when on the Wahsatch, we saw 
some l^lls away in the distance ; and unless it was an 
optical illusion, I have a faint hope of being able to 
reach them before this time to-morrow.” 

“ God grant it, my friend ! — for though I fear not 
death more than another, there is something horrible in 
the thought of leaving my bones here in the wilder- 
ness.” 

“Well, well — cheer up, Huntly ! and trust in Provi- 
dence to carry us safely through.” 

A further consultation resulted in the decision to 
await the night, and, if my horse should prove able to 
proceed, to let him carry our sacks, rifles, and so forth, 
while we were to keep him company on foot. 

By the time the sun had fairly set we resumed our 
journey ; but after a laborious travel of half a mile, my 
horse gave out. Taking from him a portion of the 
jerked meat, our rifles, and such small articles as we 
could not well do without, I killed him, to end his misery, 
with many a sigh of regret. 

It was a clear, starlight night, and the air just cool 
enough to be comfortable ; but, unlike the preceding one, 
we no longer had the refreshing dew to moisten our 
bodies and renew our strength. 

Still we succeeded better than I had anticipated, and, 
by exertions almost superhuman, placed many a long 
mile between us and our starting point ere the first 
crimson streak in the east told us that day was again 
dawning. 

To add hope to our drooping spirits, we now found 
the ground becoming more and more solid ; and ere the 
sun peered over the mountains, which were almost lost 
to view in the distance, we set our feet once more upon 
hard earth, similar in appearance to that we had quitted 
for the sands. 

Struggling on a mile or two further, we ascended a 
slight elevation, and, joy inexpressible, beheld, far away 
before us, a ridge of green hills. 

All the extravagant, unspeakable delight of the poor. 


T'HE TERRIBLE DESERT. 


207 


shipwrecked mariner, who has been for days tossed about 
by the angry elements, without food to save him from 
starvation, without water to slake his consuming thirst, 
on beholding, in the last agonies of despair, the green 
hills of his native land suddenly loom up before him — all 
his unspeakable emotions, I say, were ours ; and silently 
dropping upon our knees, our hearts spoke the gratitude 
to our All-wise Preserver which our tongues were un- 
able to utter. True, the famished, worn-out mariner 
might die in sight of land — and so might we in view of 
our haven of rest — yet the bare hope of reaching it alive 
gave energy to our sinking spirits and strength to our 
failing limbs. 

Again we pressed forward, our now swollen and 
bloodshot eyes fixed eagerly upon the desired spot, 
which, like an ignis-faiuus^ seemed only to recede to our 
advance. 

The sun, too, gradually rolling higher and higher, till 
it reached the zenith of its glory and began to descend 
toward the west, poured down its scorching rays (for 
they seemed scorching to us in the desert), dried up, as it 
were, the very marrow of our bones, blistered our parched 
and feverish skins, and caused our limbs to swell, till 
every step became one of pain almost unbearable. All 
our previous sufferings were as nothing, seemingly, com- 
pared to our present ; and when we reached the bank of 
a stream, which wound around the base of the hills, the 
sun had already hid itself for the day, and we sunk down 
completely exhausted ! 

Huntly, for the last two or three miles, had become 
delirious — had often raved about home, which he de- 
clared was just below him in a pool of clear water, which 
he, being chained to a rock, was not permitted to reach, 
although dying of thirst — and had often turned to me, 
with much the look of a ravenous beast about to spring 
upon his prey — so that, with the greatest difficulty, in 
my then weak state, I had succeeded in getting him to 
the stream, where, as I have said, we both sunk down in 
a state of exhaustion. 

Had the stream been a mile, or even half a mile, 


2o8 


THE TERRIBLE DESERT. 


further off, we must both have perished in sight of that 
water which alone could save us. 

Weak and worn-out as I was, I still had my senses — 
though sometimes I fancied they were beginning to 
wander — and I knew that for either to indulge his ap- 
petite freely would be certain to produce death. 

As my friend seemed too feeble to move, and as I was 
in a little better condition— though now unable to walk 
— I crawled over the ground to the stream, which was 
not deep, and rolled into it, restraining myself even then 
from tasting a drop, until my body was thoroughly 
soaked and I felt considerably revived. 

After a bath of some five minutes, I took a few 
draughts of the sparkling element, and never in my life 
experienced such a powerful and speedy change for the 
better. Almost instantly I felt the life-renewing blood 
coursing through my veins, and I came out of the water 
as it were another being. 

Hastening to my friend, I partially raised him in my 
arms, and, dragging him to the stream, tumbled him in, 
taking care to keep a firm hold. In a few minutes I had 
the satisfaction of seeing him slowly revive. Then scoop- 
ing up the water with my hand, I placed it to his lips, and 
he drank eagerly. Gradually his strength and conscious- 
ness returned, and, with feelings which none but one in 
my situation can ever know, I at length heard him ex- 
claim : 

“ Water ! water ! Thank God ! Frank, we are saved !” 
and falling upon the breast of each other, overcome with 
emotions of joy, our tears of gratitude were borne away 
upon the river which laved our feet. 

Eating sparingly, ever moistening our food, we at 
last found our former strength much restored ; and, 
fording the stream, we threw ourselves upon the grassy 
earth, and slept soundly that night upon its western 
bank. 


ANOTHER PERILOUS JOURNEY. 209 


CHAPTER XXIV. 
ANOTHER LONG, PERILOUS JOURNEY. 


N the following morning we found our limbs 
so stiff and sore as scarcely to be able to 
move about. 

With great difficulty we gained the river, 
and bathed ourselves in its cool, refreshing 
waters, as on the evening previous. The result of this 
seemed very beneficial ; but still we suffered too much 
from our recent almost superhuman exertions to think 
of leaving our present locality for a day or two at least. 

Looking back over the desert whicn had nearly cost 
us our lives, we could barely perceiA^e the shadowy out- 
line of some of the highest peaks of the Bear River and 
Wahsatch Mountains ; but not a trace of that ridge on 
which we had stood before entering this unexplored 
territory, from whence we had beheld distant oases and 
streams, none of which, save the first, had been found on 
our route. 

How this could be, was a matter of serious specula- 
tion, until Huntly suggested the fact of our haVing 
looked more to the southward than westward. His 
observation struck me quite forcibly ; for I now remem- 
bered having examined our compass, shortly after leaving 
the Indians, and of altering our course to the right. 

This then solved the mystery ! We had come due 
west, instead of west by south, and consequently had 
missed the very points we thought before us, and which 
Avould have saved the lives of our poor beasts. 

For two we remained on the bank of the stream, 
which Ave not inappropriately named Providence Creek, 
without venturing away the distance of thirty yards dur- 
ing the whole time. 

On the morning of the third day, Ave found our limbs 
so pliable, and our strength so far recruited, as to think 



210 ANOTHER PERILOUS JOURNEY, 


ourselves justified in resuming our travels, or at all events 
in making an exploration of the ridge above us. 

Accordingly, ascending to the summit of the hill, 
which was densely covered with a wood somewhat 
resembling ash, though not so large, we made out the 
uplands here to cover an area of five miles in breadth, by 
twenty in length, running almost due north and south, 
and composed of two parallel ridges, full of springs of 
fine water. 

Our present locality was a rich and beautiful desert 
island ; and had our horses been here, they would have 
fared sumptuously on the green, luxuriant grass of the 
valley. 

To the best of our judgment, this spot had never be- 
fore been visited by human being, as no signs indicative 
thereof could be found. The only game we could dis- 
cover were a few ground animals resembling the rabbit, 
and some gay plumed birds. We killed a few of each, 
and, on dressing and cooking them, found their flavor, 
especially the former, very delicious and nutritive. 

In this manner we spent a week on Mount Hope, as 
we termed the ridge, making explorations, killing game, 
and so forth, and at the end of this time found our 
wonted health and spirits nearly restored. We knew 
not what was before us, it is true ; but as kind Provi- 
dence had almost miraculously preserved us through so 
many dangers, we no longer had dread of our journey, 
nor fears of our safely reaching the valley of the Sac- 
ramento, at which point we aimed. 

One thing in our rambles struck us quite forcibly — 
that in the beds of some of the streams we examined, we 
found a substance, mixed with the dirt and sands, which 
had the appearance of gold. As we had no means of 
testing this, we resolved to take some along as a speci- 
men, and, should we escape, and our surmises regarding 
it be confirmed, either return ourselves, or put some 
hardy adventurer in possession of the secret. 

The next morning, like each of the preceding, being 
clear and serene, we resolved to depart and again try our 
fortunes. 

Looking toward the west, we beheld in the distance 


ANOTHER PERILOUS JOURNEY, 


2II 


another camping ground ; and hastening down the west- 
ern slope of the hills, we made our way directly toward 
it, over a slightly undulating country, less sterile in its 
appearance than the desert we had crossed the previous 
week. 

We were not able to reach it till nightfall, and suf- 
fered more or less through the day for want of water. 

Here we again found a rich soil, wooded with what I 
believe is termed the sage tree, and watered by several 
delightful springs and streams, in some of which we 
batlied, and of which we drank, much to our relief. 

To follow up our progress in detail, would be to take 
up more space than can now be spared for the purpose, 
and, in a great measure, to repeat, with trifling varia- 
tions, what I have already given. 

Suffice it, therefore, that our journey was continued 
day after day ; sometimes over sandy deserts of two days’ 
travel, which blistered our feet, and where we again suf- 
fered all the horrors of burning thirst ; sometimes over 
rough, dangerous and volcanic grounds, alongside of 
giddy precipices, and yawning chasms, and adown steep 
declivities, where a single misstep would have been fatal ; 
sometimes across streams too deep to ford, and which we 
were obliged to swim ; subsisting, a part of the way, on 
roots and such game as we could kill (our supply of jerk 
having given out), and sleeping at night on the sands, in 
the open air, or perhaps under the shelter of some over- 
hanging rock ; occasionally drenched with a storm of 
cold rain, without a fire to dry our wet garments, and 
suffering more or less from hunger, and thirst, and wea- 
riness, and violent rheumatic pains. 

Such was our pilgrimage over an unexplored coun- 
try ; and yet through all our sufferings, save the first, 
when we lost our horses, our spirits were almost ever 
buoyant, and we experienced a rapturous delight known 
only to the adventurer. 

Some six weeks from our leaving the Wahsatch 
range, we came in sight of the lofty peaks of the Sierra 
Nevada, which we hailed with a shout of joy, similar to 
that of a sailor discovering land after a long, tedious 


212 ANOTHER PERILOUS JOURNEY. 


voyage, and which awoke echoes in a wilderness never 
before disturbed by the human voice., 

Five hundred miles of an unknown region had been 
passed over, almost the whole distance on foot. During 
this time we had not seen a human being — always 
excepting our unfortunate friends, the Diggers — which 
led us to the inference, that the larger portion of this 
Great Interior Basin was uninhabited — or, at all events, 
very thinly peopled. ^ 

From this point to the Sierra Nevada, our course now 
lay over a rough, mountainous country, well watered 
and timbered. On the second day we came upon one or 
two miserable, dilapidated huts, which from all appear- 
ance had long been untenanted ; and, a mile or two fur- 
ther on, we saw a small party of savages, who, on discov- 
ering our approach, fled precipitately to the highlands, 
we probably being the first white human beings they had 
ever beheld. 

About noon of the third day we came to a beautiful 
lake, and, going round it, reached the foot of the moun- 
tain chain, bounding the Great Basin on the west, just as 
the sun, taking his diurnal farewell of the snowy peaks 
above us, seemingly transformed them, by his soft, crim- 
son light, into huge pillars of burnished gold. 

We now considered ourselves comparatively safe, 
though by no means out of danger ; for our route, over 
these mighty erections of nature, we were well aware, 
must be one of extreme peril. Unlike the desert, we 
might not suffer for want of water ; but, unlike the 
desert too, we might with cold, snows, storms, and from 
hostile savages. 

On the succeeding day we began our ascent. Up, 
up, up we toiled, through dense thickets of dwarfish, 
shrubby trees — through creeping vines, full of brambles, 
that lacerated our ankles and feet (we had long been 
shoeless) ; up, up, up the steep mountain sides we 
struggled, over rocks which sometimes formed preci- 
pices that only yielded us here and there a dangerous 
foothold ; occasionally leaping across canons, in which 
the torrent of the mountain rolled murmuring over its 
rocky bed a thousand feet below us : on, on, up and on, 


ANOTHER PERILOUS JOURNEY. 213 


we pressed eagerly — sometimes suffering with fatigue, 
and with cold, and with hunger : up and on we bent our 
steps, for two, long, wearisome days, ere we reached the 
regions of eternal snow. 

At last we stood upon the very backbone of the 
Sierra Nevada, ten thousand feet above the level of the 
sea, surrounded by a few cedars, loaded with snow and 
ice — the former underneath us to the depth of many feet 
— and gazed downward, far, far below us, upon the 
broad, barren plains, fertile uplands, lovely valleys, and 
bright, silver streams and lakes, with feelings that no 
language can describe. 

A mile or two further on we came to a pleasant val- 
ley, through which rolled a beautiful stream. Here, col- 
lecting a supply of driftwood, we kindled a bright fire, 
and, disposing ourselves around it, toasted our already 
swollen and frost-bitten feet, made our supper of a few 
roots and berries which we had collected on the way, and 
occupied most of the night in constructing some rude 
moccasins out of a quarter buffalo robe which we fortu- 
nately had brought with us. 

Thus for several days did we continue our perilous 
journey — passing through scenes of danger and hardship, 
that, if derailed, would fill a volume — sustained, in all 
our trials, by a holy Being, to whom we daily and nightly 
gave the sincere orisons of grateful hearts. 

Once, during our mountain journey, we came very 
nigh being buried in a furious snow-storm ; and but for 
the providential shelter of an Indian hut, ere darkness 
settled around us, this narrative in all probability would 
never have been written. 

The hut in question stood on the side of the moun- 
tain, and was constructed of sticks, willows and rushes, 
well braided together, in shape not unlike a modern bee- 
hive. The tenants were an Indian, his squaw, and two 
half-grown children, all miserable and filthy in their ap- 
pearance. 

Our sudden entrance (for we did not stop for 
etiquette) alarmed them terribly, and they screeched 
and drew back, and huddled themselves in a far corner. 

However, on making them friendly signs, and inti- 


214 ANOTHER PERILOUS JOURNEY. 


mating we only sought protection from the storm, they 
became reassured, and offered us some nuts, of a pleasant 
flavor, peculiar to the country, and which, as I learned, 
formed their principal food. We spent the night with 
them, and were treated with hospitality. 

On leaving I presented the host with a pocket-knife, 
which he received with an ejaculation of delight and ex- 
amined curiously. On opening it, and showing him its 
uses, his joy increased to such a degree, that, by signs, 
he immediately volunteered to act as guide, and was 
accepted by us without liesitation. 

He proved of great service, in showing us the shortest, 
and best route over the mountains, and as a kind of body- 
guard against other savages, whom we now occasionally 
met, but whom he restrained from approaching us with 
any undue familiarity. 

On arriving in sight of Sutter’s settlement — situated 
near the junction of the Rio Sacramento and Rio de los 
Americanos, or River of the Americans — we gave a wild 
shout of joy, and our guide made signs that he would go 
no further. 

As he had been with us several days, and had proved 
so faithful, we could not bear to have him part from us 
without a further testimonial of our generosity and grati- 
tude. Accordingly drawing from my belt a silver- 
mounted pistol, I discharged it, showed him how to load 
and fire it, and then presented it to him, together with a 
belt-knife and a good supply of powder and ball, and he 
went back with all the pride of an emperor marching 
from the conquest of another kingdom. 

Hurrying forward, with feelings which are indescrib- 
able, we passed through a beautiful valley, green with 
blade and bright with flowers — through an Indian vil- 
lage, where every person appeared neat and comfortable, 
and well disposed toward us — and at last, ascending 
a slight eminence, just as day was closing, beheld before 
us, not half a mile distant, an American fortress, though 
in a Mexican country and garrisoned by Indians. 

In fifteen minutes more we had passed the dusky 
sentinel at the gate, and entered an asylum of rest from 
our long pilgrimage. 


TERRIBLE MISFORTUNE, 


215 


We were received by Captain Sutter himself, who, 
gathering only a brief outline of our adventures and suf- 
ferings, expressed surprise to see us here alive, shook our 
hands with all the warm-heartedness of a friend^ and 
gave us a most cordial invitation to make his citadel our 
home as long as we might feel disposed to remain in the 
country. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


A TERRIBLE MISFORTUNE. 



first 


ORN-OUT and starved-out, our garments all 
in tatters, our frames emaciated, our faces 
long, thin and sallow, with sunken eyes and 
a beard of some two months’ growth, we pre- 
anything but an attractive appearance on our 
arrival at Sutter’s. But with the aid of soap and 


water, a keen razor, new raiment, and a couple of weeks’ 
rest, we began once more to resemble civilized beings, 
and feel like ourselves. 

Captain Sutter we found to possess all the refined 
qualities of a hospitable gentleman. He had emigrated 
to this region a year or two previous to our arrival, and 
had already succeeded in establishing a fort on a large 
grant of land obtained from the Mexican government. 

He had succeeded, too, in subduing and making good 
citizens the surrounding Indians, many of whom were 
already in his employ — some as soldiers, to guard his 
fortress — some as husbandmen, to till his soil — and some 
as vaqueros^ or cow-herds, to tend upon his cattle ; so that 
everything around gave indications of an industrious, 
wealthy and prosperous settler. 

Here we remained through the winter, amusing our- 
selves in various ways; sometimes in hunting among 
the mountains, exploring the country, and fishing in the 
streams ; at others, in making ourselves masters of the 


2i6 


A TERRIBLE MISFORTUNE. 


Spanish tongue, which was spoken by many of the 
Indians and all of the natives. This last, however, was 
more for our benefit than amusement, as we had deter- 
mined on a visit to the seaport places in the lower lati- 
tudes of Mexico as soon as the ground should be in a fit 
condition for traveling after the annual spring rains. 

It was some time between the first and middle of 
May, that, mounted upon a couple of fiery horses — 
which, decked off with all the showy trappings of two 
complete Spanish saddle equipments, had been pressed 
upon us as a present by our generous host — we bade 
adieu to the noble-hearted Captain Sutter and family and 
set out upon our southern journey. 

As we rode along, it was with feelings of pleasant 
sadness we looked back over the eventful past, and re- 
membered that about this time a year ago, two gay youths, 
fresh from college, were leaving friends and home for 
the first time, to venture they scarce knew whither. 

And what of those friends now? Were they .alive, 
and well, and in prosperity? Had their thoughts been 
much on the wanderers ? Had they looked for our re- 
turn ? Had they wept in secret for our absence, and 
prayed daily for our preservation? Ah! yes, we well 
knew all this had been done ; and the thought that we 
were still keeping them in suspense — that we were still 
venturing further and further away— could not but make 
us sad. But, withal, as I said before, it was a pleasant 
sadness ; for we secretly felt a delight in going over new 
scenes — beholding new objects. Moreover, we were now 
in good health, our constitutions felt vigorous, and this 
tended to raise our spirits. 

What an eventful year the past one had been ! 
Through what scenes of trial, privation, suffering and 
peril had we not passed ! And yet, amid all, how had 
we been sustained by the hand of Omnipotence ! How 
had we been lifted up and borne forward over the quick- 
sands of despair ! And when all appeared an endless, 
rayless night, how had our trembling souls been rejoiced 
by the sudden light of hope beaming upon our pathway 
and showing us a haven of rest ! 

But where would another year find us ? In what 


A TERRIBLE MISFORTUNE. 


217 


quarter of the habitable globe ? and under what circum- 
stances? Should we be among the living? or the dead ? 
The dead ! What a solemn thought, that our bones might 
be reposing in the soil of the stranger, thousands of miles 
from all we loved and from all that loved us ! What a 
startling idea ! And yet, in our journeyings, how in- 
. different, how careless, had we been of life ! With what 
fool-hardiness had we even dared death to meet us ! And 
still, with all the frightful warnings of the past before us, 
how recklessly were we plunging on to new scenes of 
danger ! Why did we not turn now, and bend our steps 
homeward? Had we not seen enough, suffered enough, 
to satisfy the craving desires of youth ? 

Home ! what a blessed word of a thousand joys ! 
With what pleasing emotions the thought would steal 
upon our senses ! What a world of affection was cen- 
tered there ! What happy faces the thought recalled ! 
and how we longed to behold tiiem ! Longed, yet took 
the very course to put time and distance between us and 
them ! And this to gratify what our sober reason told 
us was only a foolish, boyish passion — a craving love of 
adventure ! 

H ome ! In that word I beheld the loved faces of my 
parents. In that word I beheld the welcome visages of 
my friends. In that word, more than all, I beheld the 
sweet, melancholy countenance of Lilian ! 

Lilian ! how this name stirred the secret emotions of 
a passionate soul ! Had I forgotten her ? Had I, 
through all the varied scenes I had passed, for a moment 
lost sight of her lovely countenance ? of her sweet eyes 
beaming upon me the warm affection of an ardent soul ? 
No ! I had not forgot, I never could forget, her. She 
was woven among the fibres of my existence. To tear 
her hence would be to rend the soul itself. Thousands 
of miles away, she was not absent. She was with 
me in all my trials, sufferings and perils. Present by 
day, with her eyes of love. Hovering around me in the 
still watches of night, as it were the guardian angel of 
my destiny. Ah ! Lilian was loved. Time and distance 
proved it. Loved with a heart that could never forsake 
her — never so love another. I had done her a wrong. 

10 


2i8 


A TERRIBLE MISFORTUNE, 


But should God spare my life, and permit us again to 
meet, how quickly, by every means in my power, would 
I strive to repair it ! 

Such and similar were my thoughts as we again bent 
our steps upon a long journey. 

I am not going to describe our journey to the south. 
Like similar journeys, it was full of fatigue, with here 
and there an incident, or a curiosity, perhaps a danger. 

Suffice it, therefore, that with me you let a year pass 
unnoted. That you imagine us having gone a thousand 
miles into the heart of Mexico, and, heartily sick and 
disgusted with our travels, the people, and for the most 
part the country, you now find us on our glad journey to 
the north ! 

You will fancy, then, that a year has passed ; and that 
we, having so far escaped with our lives, are now on our 
return to Upper California ; thence to shape our route to 
Oregon ; and then, ho ! for the far distant land of our 
childhood. 

Little did we dream in that happy moment ot con- 
templation of the terrible calamity about to befall us ! 
Little did we think that our hearts, bright with hope and 
joy, were soon to be clouded with woe unutterable ! grief 
inconsolable ! And why should we ? We who had been 
through so many perils, and made so many miraculous 
escapes, where death seemed inevitable — why should we 
now, comparatively safe, already on our return, for a 
moment harbor the thought that a misfortune, before 
which all we had suffered would sink into insignificance, 
was impending ? How little does man know his destiny ! 
Poor, blind mortal ! what presumption in him to at- 
tempt the reading of the scroll of fate ! 

It was a bright, warm day, in the April of 1842, that 
we arrived at Pueblo de los Angelos, where the Great 
Spanish Trail comes in from Santa Fe. We had been on 
the move, day after day, for nearly a month, during which 
time we had traveled some five hundred miles, and our 
horses were very much fatigued in consequence. Be- 
sides, their shoes being worn out and their feet sore, we 
resolved to remain here a few days, to have them shod, 
fecruited, and put in a good traveling condition, while 


A TERRIBLE MISFORTUNE. 


219 


our time was to be spent in hunting and examining the 
country round about. 

Giving our beasts in charge of a responsible person, 
with orders to see them well attended to, we set forward 
with our rifles ; and taking the Spanish Trail, which 
here ran due east and west, we followed it some two 
miles; when, leaving it to the right, we struck off into 
the mountains known as the Coast Range. 

About noon we came to a point where the country as- 
sumed a very rough and wild appearance. Cliff upon 
cliff rose one over the other : above which a few peaks 
still shot up far heavenward, capped with everlasting 
snows. Tremendous precipices, deep caverns, and wild 
gorges, could be seen on every hand, full of danger to 
the unwary explorer. 

Making a halt, we were already debating whether to 
advance or retrace our steps, when, as if to decide and 
lure us forward, a fine antelope was discovered on a rock 
above us, not over a hundred yards distant, coolly eying 
us from his supposed safe retreat. Scarce a moment 
elapsed, so quick were the motions of each, ere our pieces, 
speaking together, told him too late of his error. He 
was wounded, this we could see, but not enough to pre- 
vent his flight, and he turned and bounded over the rocks 
up the steep. 

“ Ah, Frank,” cried Huntly, with enthusiasm, “ here is 
sport in earnest ! Nothing to do but give chase. He 
must not escape us. Dart you up the mountain ; while 
I, by going round, will perhaps head him off on the other 
side. At all events we will soon meet again !” 

On the impulse of the moment I sprung forward in 
one direction and Huntly in another. 

To the great danger of my neck, I clambered up the 
steep acclivity, over precipitous rocks, gaping fissures, 
and through a dense brushwood, and stood at last upon 
the spot where we had first seen the beast. 

Here was a small pool of blood, and a bloody trail 
marked the course of the animal ; and I pressed on again, 
rightly judging, from the quantity of blood left behind, 
that he could not hold out any great distance. 

But the distance proved further than I had antici- 


220 


A TERRIBLE MISFORTUNE. 


pated ; and half an hour found me completely out of 
breath, on the brow of one of the lower ridges, without 
having come in sight of the antelope. 

Here the trail, more bloody than ever, took a down- 
ward course, and I counted on finding the chase between 
me and the foot of the hill. 

At this moment I heard, as I fancied, the shout of my 
friend ; and thinking it one of delight, on being the first 
to reach the beast, I gave an answering one of joy, and 
descended rapidly on the red trail. 

V Within fifty yards of the valley I discovered the ob- 
ject of my quest, lying on his side, pierced by two bul- 
lets, and in the last agonies of death. 

Applying my knife to his throat, I made an end of his 
sufferi •'gs, and then looked eagerly around for my 
friend. 

He was nowhere to be seen. 

I called — but no answer. 

This somewhat surprised me, as I felt certain of hav- 
ing heard his voice in this direction. 

Thinking he could not be far off, I repeated his name 
at the top of my lungs, but with no better success. 

Although somewhat alarmed, I consoled myself by 
thinking I must have been mistaken in the sound I had 
heard, and that at all events he would soon make his ap- 
pearance. 

With this I seated myself on the ground, and, 
throwing the breech of my rifle down the mountain, oc- 
cupied myself in reloading it. 

Minute after minute went by, but no Huntly ap- 
peared, and I began to grow exceedingly uneasy. 

For awhile I fancied he might be watching me from 
some near covert, just to note the effect of his absence ; 
but when a half hour had rolled around, and nothing had 
been seen or heard of him, I became alarmed in earnest. 

Springing to my feet, I shouted his name several 
times, with all the accents of fright and despair. 

Then darting down to the valley, I ran round the 
foot of the mountain, making the woods echo with my 
calls at every step. 

In half an hour more I had gained the point where we 


A TERRIBLE MISFORTUNE. 


221 


had parted ; but still no Huntly. God of mercy ! who 
can describe my feelings then ! 

Nearly frantic, I retraced my steps, shouting with all 
my might ; but, alas ! with no better success. There lay 
the antelope, as I had left it, showing that no one had 
been there during my absence. 

Until the shades of night began to settle over the 
earth, I continued my almost frantic search ; and then, 
thinking it possible Huntly might have returned to the 
settlement, I set out for Los Angelos with the speed and 
feelings of a madman. 

When I arrived there, it had long been night. To my 
eager inquiries, each and all shook their heads, and 
replied that my friend Had not been seen since we 
departed in the morning. 

Who could describe, who imagine, my anguish on 
hearing this ! Huntly, my bosom companion, was lost. 
Captured it might be by guerrillas, or by Indians. De- 
stroyed, perhaps, by some wild beast, or by falling down 
some precipice, or into some chasm ! Gone he was, 
most certainly ; and I wrung my hands in terrible agony, 
and called wildly upon his name, though I knew he 
could not hear me. - 

So great was my distress, that it excited the pity of 
the spectators, severai of whom volunteered to go back 
with me and search for him with torches. 

The proposition I accepted eagerly ; and that night 
the mountains sparkled with flaming lights, and their 
deep recesses resounded with the name of my friend, and 
with cries of anguish. All night long we searched faith- 
fully, and shouted with all our might. But, alas ! all 
was of no avail. My friend came not — answered not— 
perhaps never would again ! 

When daylight once more lighted that fatal spot, and 
those who had assisted me declared it useless to search 
longer, that Huntly was either dead or a prisoner, my 
anguish exceeded the strength of my reason to bear, and 
I became a raving maniac. 

For two months from that date I had no knowledge 
of what was taking place around me ; and when, by the 
grace of God, conscious reason again returned, I found 


222 


WONDERFUL SURPRISES. 


myself in a feeble state, a miserable invalid at Pueblo de 
los Angelos. 

To a noble-hearted Mexican lady, wife of a Mexican 
military officer, for her kindness to, and care of, a forlorn 
stranger, is due a debt of gratitude that I may never have 
power to cancel, but which it is my daily prayer may be 
found written upon the eternal pages of the Great Book 
of AIL-Good. 

In June, a sad, emaciated, almost heart-broken being, 
I resumed my journey to the north. But alas ! alas ! 
poor Charles Huntly ! His fate was still unknown. 
His last words to me, spoken gayly, “ At all events we 
shall soon meet again^* had never been fulfilled. . 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

WONDERFUL SURPRISES. 

STOOD upon the summit of the Rocky Moun- 
tains. I stood upon that point of land which 
divides the rivers of the Atlantic and Pacific 
Oceans ; upon that mighty barrier which bids 
its gushing rivulets rolls eastward and west- 
ward ; where, springing from the same source, as 
children from the same parents, they are separated by 
the hand of fate, to end their course thousands of miles 
apart. 

I stood upon the great dividing ridge of the North 
American Continent, and cast my eyes over a mighty 
expanse of territory. 

But with what feelings did I gaze around me ! Were 
they feelings of joy? No! they could not be joyous. 
There was one absent from my side that made them sad. 
I needed the bright eye, noble face, commanding form, 
warm heart and strong hand of one who was now per- 
js no more. Had he been by, my now melancholy 



W^ONDERFUL SURPRISES. 


223 


gaze would have been one of enthusiastic rapture. In 
every hill, in every tree, in every rock, in every rill, I 
would have beheld something to make my heart leap 
with delight — for no7v I was homeward bound. 

What a strange creature is man ! It is said that he 
sees with his eyes — but I contend that his heart gives color 
to his vision. If not, why do the same scenes, unchanged 
in their appearance, to him present different aspects ? 
Why docs that which to-day he beholds as something 
briglit and beautiful, to-morrow wear the sable hue of 
gloom? Is not the scene the same? Are not his eyes 
the same ? Ay ! but yesterday his heart was light and 
bounding with joy — to-day it is dark and oppressed with 
grief. All the change, then, lies in the heart. 

Yes ! here I stood — alone — my face set eastward — my 
steps bent to the still far distant land of my youth. What 
had I not been through, what had I not suffered, since 
quitting that roof under which I had known nothing but 
happiness and ease ? In little more than two years I felt 
I had lived an age, and even fancied my hair growing 
gray at twenty-two. 

Yes ! I was wending my way to my native land ; but 
should God permit me to reach there alive, what an un- 
enviable lot would be mine, to make the home of my 
friend the house of lamentation and woe ! 

And Lilian, dear Lilian — to whom, would to God, I 
could bring nothing but joy — I must be doomed to make 
her weep, to fill her bright eyes with tears, and robe her 
fair form in funereal weeds ! Alas ! alas ! what bitter 
necessity ! How my soul groaned in anguish at the 
thought, until I envied the supposed cold death-sleep of 
him I mourned. 

Such were some of my thoughts and feelings as I com- 
menced descending the eastern slope of the Rocky 
Mountains. 

I have said nothing of my route hither, since leaving 
Pueblo de los Angelos, and for the very reason there was 
little or nothing to say. My horse had borne me hither ; 
my hand had guided him ; my food had been such as came 
in my way ; my sleep had been mostly upon the hard 
earth in the open air ; my route had occasionally been 


224 


WONDERF UL S URP RISES. 


pointed out to me — occasionally had been taken at a 
venture ; I had sometimes had companions, and some- 
times had traveled by myself ; and, lastly, I was here 
now, alone, and that was the most I knew. 

Oppressed with a burden of grief almost insupport- 
able, I had taken little note of external objects. With a 
sort of instinct, I had, day after day, pursued my journey, 
perfectly reckless of that life which to me seemed more 
an infliction than a comfort. I had been surrounded by 
dangers at all times ; I had been less cautious than pre- 
viously in guarding against them ; and yet here I was — 
alive — in fair bodily health — preserved how, and for 
what purpose, God only knew. 

It was near the close of August, and the day was clear 
and cold. The sun, some three hours advanced toward 
noon, streamed over the scene his bright light, but with- 
out much apparent warmth. The north wind, sweeping 
down from the icy peaks of the Wind River Mountains 
— looming up in rugged masses away to the left — seemed 
to chill my very blood ; and spurring my noble horse 
onward, I dashed down the long slope before me at a 
fast gallop. 

A little after nightfall I came to a romantic valley, 
shut in by hills, through which a bright stream rolled, 
and foamed, and murmured over its rocky bed. 

Here I beheld the fires of two encampments. The 
one nearest the bank of the river was evidently a party 
of emigrants ; for, by the dim light, I could just trace 
the white outline of several covered wagons, and a few 
dark, moving objects near them, which I took to be their 
animals. I could also see a few figures flitting to and fro 
— some round the fire-lights, and some more distant — 
engaged, to all appearance, in preparing the evening’s 
repast and settling themselves down for the night. The 
other encampment, separated from the first' by some 
thirty or forty rods, consisted of only one fire, around 
which were squatted a small group of mountaineers. 

To this I directed my horse, and, on coming up, said ; 

“ Gentlemen, will you permit a solitary traveler to 
mess with you for the night ?" 


WONDERFUL SURPRISES. 


225 


“Wall, we won’t do nothin’ else,” replied a voice, 
which I fancied was not unfamiliar to me. 

Although this answer-signified I was welcome to join 
them, yet not a man moved, nor appeared to notice me at 
all. 

This, however, did not disconcert me in the least, as 
I knew so well the morose, semi-social habits of the 
mountaineer, that, to gain a grunt of assent to my request, 
was the utmost I could expect. 

1 therefore dismounted, and, approaching the fire, 
scrutinized the faces of the party closely, as, rolling out 
clouds of tobacco smoke, they remained fixed, like posts 
in a circle, their eyes apparently seeing nothing but the 
flames. 

Judge of my astonishment, reader, on discovering in 
this party of five, two of my old companions — Black 
George and Teddy O’Lagherty. 

My first impulse was to spring forward and make my- 
self known at once. But, on second thought, I concluded 
to remain unrecognized, and see what would be the re- 
sult. 

Removing the saddle and trappings from my horse, 
I hoppled and left him to crop the green grass of the val- 
ley. Then, drawing near the fire, I sat myself down in the 
ring, just far enough back to have a shade upon my 
face. 

The trappers were engaged in conversation of more 
than ordinary interest, and appeared not to notice me ; 
while, for my own part, I determined not to interrupt 
them. 

“Think she’ll hev to go under!” observed Black 
George, with an ominous shake of the head. “Thar’s 
many places better to be sick in nor this here.” 

“ Agh ! jabers ! but it’s har-r-d now, so it is !” re- 
joined Teddy, looking very solemn. “ Be me sowl, but I 
wish mesilf a docthor now— barring the physicking, that 
I don’t like at all, at all — if ounly to make the face of 
that swaat crathur glad, by tilling her I knows her 
mother’s ailment. Ochone ! but she’s the purtiest live 
one I’ve saan since laving ould Ireland, where I wish me- 
silf back agin. I could love her, jist,for looking so much 
10* 


226 


WONDERFUL SURPRISES. 


like me young masther, that’s dead and gone, pace to 
his bones ! Ochone ! but this is a sorry world, so it 
. is!” 

“How she looked when she axed for a doctor of 
me !” observed another. “ Ef I hadn’t left soon, I’d a done 
so’thin’ womanish, sartin.” 

“ Augh!” grunted Black George, knocking the ashes 
from his pipe; “ sich sights as them ain’t fit for us 
mountaineers.” 

“Of whom are you speaking, friends?” I now in- 
quired, deeply interested. 

“ A beauthiful lady, sir, and her mother as is sick !” 
replied Teddy, turning toward me an eager look. 

I instantly shaded my face with my hand, as if to keep 
off the heat, and saw I was not recognized. 

“ And where is the lady you speak of ?” 

“ In the wagin, yonder. The ould lady’s sick, and 
they’ve not got a spalpeen of a docthor among ’em ; and 
the young miss is a cryin’ like she’d break her heart, poor 
thing ! For the mather of that, there’s two young 
famales, now, that’s cryin’ — but only onesaams to be the 
daughther. Maybe it’s a docthor you is, now, by your wee 
look and thinness?” 

“ I was educated to the profession, but have never 
practiced.” 

“Troth! it’s no difference — ye must go an’ sae the 
lady — for it’s Heaven as has sint ye here. I’m knowing 
mesilf !” 

“ But, Ted — (I was on the point of speaking his name) 
— but I have no medicine.” 

“ Divil a bit of difference for that ! Ye must bC' 
afther saaing her, if ye’s a docthor — and can spaak 
the Lathin names they give whin physic’s short — if ounly 
to comfort the young lady that’s dyin’ of grief.” 

“ Well, well, I will go,” I said, finding myself fully in 
for it, and my curiosity being a good deal excited to see 
the lady whom all agreed in describing as beautiful. 

“ Ah that’s a good sowl ye is now !” said the warm, 
generous-hearted Teddy, who seemed as much interested 
for the fair stranger as if she were his own sister. “ It’s a 
good sowl ye is, now, to go and sae her ! Faith ! ye puts 


WONDERFUL SURPRISES. 


227 


me in mind of a young masther I once had, voice and all, 
barring that he was a wee bit bether looking ’an you is.” 

“ Indeed ! And what was your master’s name T 

“ Och ! I had a pair of ’em ! One was Misther Huntly, 
a lawyer — and the other, Misther Leighton, a docthor. 
It’s the docthor ye puts me in mind of now.” 

“ Well, what became of them?” 

“ Oh, sir !” cried Teddy, wiping the tears from his 
eyes ; “ they got killed, sir ! The divilish, murthering, 
baastly thaves of Injins killed and ate ’em ! Ochone ! 
ochone !” and he wrung his hands at the bare thought 
and sobbed for very grief. 

Why, you seem to take it to heart as much as if 
they were related to you !” 

“ And so would you, an’ ye’d a knowed ’em, sir. They 
was two sich swaat youths ! Parfict gintlemen, an’ jist 
from college, as I hearn ’em say mesilf. Ochone ! but 
I’d a died for ’em asy, and no questions axed, an’ they’d 
a towld me to !” 

“Leighton! Leighton!” repeated I, musingly, as if 
trying to remember where I had before heard the name. 
“Leighton! fresh from college, say you ? Was the one 
you term doctor from Boston ?” 

“ Ah, troth was he !”. cried Teddy, jumping up in ex- 
citement. “Then yees knowed him, sir, it’s like, by your 
way of spaking, jist ?” 

“ I know enough of him !” I answered, now fully de- 
termined on putting Teddy’s friendship to the test. 

“ Arrah, sir ! and what do yees maan by saying the 
likes of that now ?” 

“ What do I mean ? Why, my meaning is very sim- 
ple. I know that this fellow, you are so fond of lauding, 
is not a whit better than I am.” 

“ And I maan ye’re a dirthy spalpeen blaggard, doc- 
thor or no docthor, jist for spaking in that contimptible 
W’ay of the finest gintleman as was iver saan ! and no 
exciptions made to your dirthy self, that’s not worth the 
snap of me finger ! Whoop ! ye blaggard 1 don’t be 
grinning that way at your bethers ; but jist come out 
here, like a man, ye cowardly thafe, and sae what I’ll 
taach yees ! Whoop !” 


228 


WONDERFUL SURPRISES. 


Here the Irishman jumped up and cracked his heels, 
and made several warlike demonstrations with his fists, 
much to my amusement and satisfaction. 

The trappers, too, gathered themselves upon their 
feet, in anticipation of a fight ; and as I showed no dis- 
position to reply to Teddy, Black George turned his dark 
visage to me, and said, gruffly ; 

“ Come, young chap, you’ve got to chawr them words 
you’ve jest put a travelin’, or else git licked afore you 
can say beans !” 

“ What have I said ?” I replied, finding the matter 
becoming serious, and pretending to exculpate myself. 
“I merely intimated that Mr. Leighton was no better 
than myself ; and what more could I say, when of course 
1 think myself as good as anybody?” 

“ Yes, it’s all very wall, boy, foj:.^ou to talk,” returned 
Black George ; ” but heyar’s what knows a insult from 
a beaver, I reckons ; and ef you don’t chawr them words 
in less nor two minutes, and own up you ain’t no equal 
to him you’ve spoke agin, I’ll ram some fodder down 
your gullet you won’t swoller easy — ef I don’t, 1 hope I 
may be dogged for a dirty skunk all my life I” and he 
ended by shaking his fist rather nearer my face than was 
agreeable. 

“ Yis, and now be takin’ thim back !” roared Teddy, 
making preparations to spring upon me; “or I’ll turn 
yees inside out, and shake ye as I used me masther’s car- 
pet-bag, t hat’s dead and gone — not the bag, but the mas- 
ther, ye blaggaid yees !” 

I now found, that to restore myself to the good 
graces of my friends, I should be obliged to make myself 
known. As I had fully tested their friendship for my 
absent self, I lost no further time. 

“Gentlemen,” I rejoined mildly, “I can prove every- 
thing I have said ; and even you will acknowledge it 
when I tell you who I am. You behold before you, not 
the calumniator of Francis Leighton, but Francis Leigh- 
ton himself, your old friend.” 

Had a bomb suddenly fallen and burst at their feet 
it could not have caused more surprise and wonder with 


WON D ERF UL S URP RISES. 


229 


Teddy and Black George than did this simple declara- 
tion. 

At first they both took a step or two backward ; and 
then, springing forward, each caught me by an arm, and 
drawing me close to the fire, peered eagerly into my 
face. One full, penetrating glance sufficed. 

“ Him, by thunder !” cried Black George. 

Saints and angels !” shouted Teddy, throwing his 
arms around my neck, and weeping like a child. Then, 
taking another long look into my face, he sprung away, 
and shouting, Be the piper’s cross, it’s him himsilf ! me 
young masther’s alive !” he danced and capered around 
me with all the wild gestures of joyful insanity — some- 
times weeping, and sometimes laughing, and occasion- 
ally catching hold of me, as if to assure himself of my 
identity, and that it was no false vision, no hallucination 
of the brain. 

Black George, meantime, pressed my hand warmly, 
and said, in a voice slightly tremulous with emotion : 

“Boy, I never reckoned on seein’ you agin. Thought 
you’d gone under — I’ll be dog-gone ef I didn’t ! You fit 
wall — I’ll be dogged ef you didn’t ! But whar d’ye float 
to 1 and whar’s your pardner ?” 

Some half an hour was now spent in questions and 
answers; during which I learned that Fiery Ned and 
Rash Will had both been killed at Bitter Cottonwood ; 
that Daring Tom had been severely wounded, and 
shortly after left for the States ; that Carson had escaped, 
and was at the present time acting as guide to Colonel 
Fremont ; that Teddy had been on a trapping adventure 
with Black George and two or three others ; that, having 
recently made a trip to St. Louis, they were nowon their 
way to the mountains ; and that neither myself nor 
Huntly had been heard from since that eventful night — 
in consequence of which they had supposed us killed or 
made prisoners. 

In turn I gave them a brief outline of my own adven- 
tures, up to the loss of my friend, at which both expressed 
deep sympathy, and Teddy wept freely. 

“Spaking of Misthei* Huntly,” said Teddy, at length. 


230 


WONDERFUL SURPRISES. 


puts me in mind that ye’s not yit saan the sick woman, 
your honor.” 

“ True, Teddy — I had forgot. Lead the way !” 

At the word, we quitted the trappers, and set forward 
to the larger encampment, where I found some six or 
eight heavy, covered wagons, arranged in a circle. 

In the center of the area stood a group of men, con- 
versing in low tones, and glancing occasionally at one of 
the v*ehicles, around which several women were collected 
— the faces of all, as far as I could see, expressive of 
deep sympathy and sorrow. 

Close to the wagon, in which on a rude bed the in- 
valid was lying, were two young females, apparently of 
the better class ; one of whom, clasping the thin hand of 
the sick person, particularly arrested my attention by 
her display of violent grief. The other appeared to be 
weeping also ; but the faces of both were from me, so 
that I could only conjecture the latter. 

Taking the lead, Teddy forced his way through the 
crowd, and, lightly touching the shoulder of the one who 
held the invalid’s hand, said, in a gentle tone : 

“Here’s a docthor, marm.” 

The next moment I found myself the cynosure of 
many eyes ; while the one addressed, turning short 
round, gave one glance, and, uttering a strange, wild cry, 
sunk to the earth in a swoon. 

What this meant I was at a loss to comprehend, for 
her features had been in the shade of the same light 
which had revealed mine to her. 

“ Nervous excitement !” I said to myself ; “joy at be- 
holding a physici-an at hand and, springing forward, I 
bent down to raise her. 

Already had my arms encircled her slender form — al- 
ready was I on the point of lifting her from the earth — 
when the light of a torch flashed full on her pale counte- 
nance. 

One look ! one sudden start ! one exclamation of 
agonized wonder ! and then I remained fixed, with eyes 
half starting from their sockets — speechless — motionless 
— seemingly transformed to stone — my arms encircling 
— merciful God ! — the lovely form oi-^Lilian Huntly ! 


MANY THINGS. 


231 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

MANY THINGS. 

HERE are feelings that cannot be described. 
There are emotions too deep for utterance. 
There are times when the mind has power to 
paralyze the body : when racking thouglit 
forces us to live an age in a minute : when 
we see and know all that is going on around us, and yet 
seem to be separate from the worlds — to exist in a world 
of ideality — a spiritual state : when our whole life, like 
a map, seems spread before us ; and we behold, at a 
single glance, in a second of time, what has taken us 
years to enact : when, leaping over the past and the pres- 
ent, we seem to pierce the great veil of the future and 
behold our destiny. 

May not this be a foretaste of death ? May we not 
so see, and feel, and know, when the spirit shall have 
become separated from its frail tenement of mortality ? 

I have said there are such feelings and emotions ; 
but they can only result from the most powerful causes. 
Neither do they affect all in the same manner. While a 
few experience the sensations. just described, to others 
the same or similar causes may be productive of death, 
insanity, or the death-like swoon of utter forgetfulness. 

Of the former class was I — of the latter Lilian. The 
same emotions which destroyed her consciousness, para- 
lyzed my physical powers, and forced me to a conscious- 
ness beyond the natural. 

Bending over her — my eyes seemingly glazed, and 
fixed upon her sweet face, now pale and death-like — I 
remained spell-bound — all my animal faculties sus- 
pended. 

I heard a trampling of feet, as several persons 
hurried to our assistance — I heard voices expressive of 
alarm and dismay — and, above all, the voice of the 
invalid calling Lilian by name. I was conscious of 



232 


MANY THINGS. 


being removed — of seeing the idol of my heart raised and 
borne away also. I felt my limbs chafed by half a dozen 
hands, and water dashed in my face. I saw thus, felt 
thus, comprehended all — and yet my mind w^as wander- 
ing far away to other scenes. 

Have we power to think of more than one thing at the 
same time ? I contend that we have — or else that thought, 
swift beyond comparison, sets before us dilferent scenes 
with such rapidity that we seem to behold two at once 
— sometimes half a dozen — and yet each perhaps as 
opposite and distant as the north and south poles. 

While I comprehended what was going on around 
me, my mind flew back to youth — to the time when I 
first felt a passion for Lilian — and traced every event of 
my life up to the present moment. Even the dream — in 
which I had seen her bowed down by poverty, and finally 
murdered by my supposed rival — was painfully re- 
membered ; and it now recurred to me as a vision of 
prophecy. Something fearful had happened, and I had 
been warned of it in my sleep. 

How is it that in our sleep events are made known to 
us, that really are, or are about, taking place ? Can it 
be that the spirit then roams at will, in all the freedom 
of disembodiment, and returns freighted with intelli- 
gence to communicate to the physical senses ? Let the 
philosopher and metaphysician answer ! Enough for me 
the effect, without at present seeking the cause. 

And here, to keep my narrative straight before the 
reader, let me digress one moment,* to place him in 
possession of facts which I gleaned afterward — partly 
from Lilian — partly from her companions of the journey. 

It will be remembered, that, in the opening of this 
story, I mentioned my own father,, and the father of my 
friend, as being wealthy merchants in the city of Boston. 

Shortly after our departure — it might be on that very 
night of my singular dream — news of the failure of 
three large houses in New York, gave Mr. Huntly the 
astounding information that he was not worth a thousand 
dollars beyond his obligations. 

I am not going to describe his feelings, nor those of 
the family, on finding themselves thus suddenly reduced 


MANY THINGS, 


233 


from a state of unlimited wealth to one of comparative 
poverty. 

The effect upon the elder Huntly was to ruin him in 
his own estimation for life, and it soon became apparent 
to his friends that he would not long survive the shock. 

' All his energy, his ambition, went with his property, and 
a cloud of melancholy and grief settled over his once 
bright and joyous countenance. Several warm-hearted 
friends, among whom was my father, came forward and 
offered to assist him — but all to no avail. He refused 
assistance — declaring it to be the chastening hand of 
God, to prepare him to depart to his long home. Depres- 
sion of spirits brought on physical debility, and the winds 
of the succeeding autumn sung a dirge over his grave. 

A father and husband dead — a brother and son away, 
perhaps dead also — made the home of Lilian and her 
mother a house of mourning indeed ; and what they 
suffered for the next two years, I must leave to the imagi- 
nations of those who have felt a similar visitation of the 
hand of Providence. 

After paying the debts of the estate, a remnant of 
property remained ; to which a few friends, on pretense 
they owed the deceased, for this favor or that, generously 
added more ; so that, although comparatively poor, they 
were in a measure above want. They left their line man- 
sion, to reside in a small but pleasant house, owned 
by my father, but for which he would receive no rent. 

Here they remained for eighteen months, laboring 
under a weight of affliction which those only can know 
who have lost friends by death, been suddenly reduced 
from affluence to poverty, and seen the cold, stinging 
look of scorn and contempt upon the lips of those heart- 
less beings who were wont to play the fawning sycophant 
and utter words of flattery and deceit as worthless as 
themselves. 

During the winter of 1841 and ’42, much w’as said 
concerning Oregon ; and, as generally happens with 
every new place to which public attention becomes par- 
ticularly directed, there were not lacking exaggerated 
accounts, which set it forth as the real El Dorado of the 
world. Whether these owed their origin to the prolific 


234 


MANY THINGS, 


brains of certain romantic editors, or to the more design- 
ing ones of speculators, or to both combined (the most 
probable), matters not ; but the effect was to set on 
foot a tide of emigration, which, had it long continued 
without check, would have made Oregon a populous 
country. 

Among those who had caught this “ Western fever,” 
as it was frequently termed, were a few wealthy farmers 
in the vicinity of Boston, with one family of whom Mrs. 
Huntly had an intimate acquaintance. 

Being on a visit to them in the winter, she soon 
learned, much to her surprise, that they were already 
making preparations to start, on the opening of spring, 
for this great El Dorado — this Ultima Thule of western 
emigration. Several of their acquaintances were going 
to join them ; and, above all, an eccentric lady of 
wealth and refinement, who, with her beautiful daugh- 
ter, had for the past year been the lioness and belle of 
the aristocratic and fashionable circles of Boston. 

Of this lady, who was known as Madame Mortimer — 
as also her daughter, who had received the sobriquet of 
Belle Eva, the latter being her Christian name — Mrs. 
Huntly had more than once heard ; and it was with no 
little surprise she then learned of their determination to 
venture upon such a long, tedious and dangerous jour- 
ney ; and she mentally said, “ When such people resolve 
to leave all the allurements of civilization, there must be 
something worth going for and this probably proved 
one of the strongest arguments to induce her to make 
one of the party herself. In addition to this her country 
friends were enthusiastic on the subject of Oregon, of 
which they had received the most glowing, and of course 
exaggerated, accounts, and were eager in urging her to 
join them. Oregon City, a name which sounded well to 
the ear, was to be their destination. Of this they already 
had maps, on which the broad streets and squares looked 
very attractive. Here each and all were to make their 
fortunes ; and, in the visionary excitement of the mo- 
ment, they overlooked the sober fact that Oregon City 
then existed on the map only, drawn up by some specu- 


MAJVV THINGS. 


235 


lator, a'ld that its handsome streets and squares were 
simply imaginary locations in an utter wilderness. 

But why prolong 1 why enter into a detail of the hun- 
dred little causes which combined to decide Mrs. Huntly 
(a lady whose main faults were an enthusiastic love of 
new projects, an overweening confidence in her own 
judgment, and a willful adherence to her own decisions, 
right or wrong), in joining this ill-timed expedition ? con- 
trary to the advice of her friends and of Lilian — the lat- 
ter of whom consented to accompany her that she might 
not be separated from her only parent. 

Enough that she had so decided ; and that early in the 
spring succeeding, having disposed of all her effects, she 
and Lilian, in company with Madame and Eva Mortimer 
(whom the fashionable world of course considered in- 
sane), and some eight or ten families, had set out on 
their long journey to the far. Far West. 

And here, apropos of Madame Mortimer and her 
lovely daughter, of whom much remains to be said at 
no distant period. Although they had appeared in the 
fashionable circles of Boston and were reputed wealthy, 
nothing of their private history was generally known ; 
and of course, as regarded therh, curiosity was excited to 
a great degree, but without avail. They had been met 
among t\iQ bon ton of New York and invited to Boston. 
They had accepted the invitation, had passed the ordeal 
of fashionable criticism, had conducted themselves on 
all occasions with strict propriety, and had departed, 
right in the face of all the gossips, without a single one 
being the wiser for his or her inquiries. 

As to who and what they were, and how connected 
with the foregoing and succeeding events of this life- 
history, the reader who continues to the end of the 
narrative will be enlightened. 

It is needless forme to touch upon the journey of my 
friends westward. Like all emigrants who were then 
seeking Oregon for a home, they had experienced 
severe trials and vicissitudes, which upon them had fallen 
the more heavily from being the first hardships they 
had ever known. 

Some three or four days previous to my joining 


236 ANOTHER STRANGE DISCOVERY. 


them, Mrs. Huntly had been taken sick ; and although 
Lilian had been greatly alarmed from the first, yet with 
the others the matter had not been thought serious, until 
the evening in question, when Iier symptoms had taken 
an unfavorable turn. Having no doctor among them, 
application for one had been made by Lilian to some of 
the trappers, who chanced to be passing ; and this, provi- 
dentially, had brought us once more together after the 
long and eventful separation of more than two years. 

Having thus, kind reader, put you in possession of 
facts important for you to know, I will return from my 
digression and go on with my narrative. 


CHAPTER XXVHI. 

ANOTHER STRANGE DISCOVERY. 

T was several minutes before I recovered from 
my paralysis ; and this was doubtless much 
accelerated by Teddy, who, having tried 
various ways to restore me, at last threw 
his arms around my neck, and, placing his 
mouth close to my ear, shouted : 

“ I say, your honor, is it dead ye is, now ? or is it 
dead ye’s jist agoing to be ? by the way ye’s stare so, and 
sez nothing at all, at all ?” 

With a start, as if suddenly awakened from a dream, 
I looked around me, perceived myself the center of all 
eyes, and heard my name several times pronounced, 
coupled with that of Lilian, as here and there one, who 
had gained the secret of our strange behavior, sought to 
explain it to others. To most of the parties my name 
was already familiar, as the companion of young Huntly, 
and son of the wealthy Leighton of Boston, and this 
probably had no tendency to lessen curiosity. 

My first feeling on regaining myself (if I may so ex- 



ANOTHER STRANGE DISCOVERY. 


237 


press it) was one of confusion, that I had so publicly laid 
myself open to gossip ; my second, indignation at being 
so stared at ; my third, alarm as to what might be the 
effect of all this upon Mrs. Huntly ; and to her I im- 
mediately turned, without a word to the others. 

Perhaps the reader, if a lover, is surprised that my 
first alarm was not for Lilian. Ay! but I saw at a 
glance that Lilian was in good hands, and in a fair way 
of recovery, and it would have been injudicious at that 
moment to have drawn any more attention to her. 

Mrs. Huntly I found lying upon a feather bed, in a 
large, covered wagon, underneath which was attached a 
furnace for warming it ; so that, all things considered, 
the patient was more comfortably situated than I had 
expected to find her. 

In appearance she had altered much since I had last 
seen her. Her naturally rather florid complexion, and 
full, round face, had given place to pallor and thinness ; 
and here and there I could trace deep lines of care ; but 
I failed to note a single symptom portending immediate 
danger. Grief, fatigue of travel, and many anxieties of 
mind, together with a touch of influenza, had brought on 
a splenetic affection, something like what is termed 
hypochondria. She had fancied herself very ill, and in 
fact nigh unto death ; and I saw at once that if she could 
be persuaded that the crisis had passed, and that the 
danger was over, she would speedily recover ; and upon 
this I acted with decision. 

The cause of her grief and of her being here, I did not 
then know — for the information I have given the reader 
on the subject was not obtained till afterward — and I 
saw it would not do to question her. It was necessary I 
should appear cheerful, whether I felt so or not, and 
accordingly I approached her with a smile. Instantly 
her eye brightened as it met mine ; and I perceived, to 
my great satisfaction, that the alarm occasioned by the 
swoon of Lilian had proved beneficial, in drawing her 
thoughts from herself to another and arousing all her 
dormant faculties. 

Extending her hand as I approached, she said, with a 
sigh : 


238 ANOTHER STRANGE HISCOVERY. 


“Ah, Francis, I never thought we should meet thus.*' 

“True,” I replied, “ I had thought to meet you under, 
other circumstances — though I presume all has happened 
for the best.” 

“ You find me very low, do you not ?” 

“You have been ill,” I answered, emphasizing the 
word have; “but everything I see has turned in your 
favor.” 

“ How ?” she exclaimed, quickly, raising her head, 
and fixing her eyes intently upon mine ; “ would you 
imply that I am not in a dangerous condition ?” 

“ I would not imply it,” I rejoined, with energy, pre- 
tending to judge by her pulse, “ but 1 will assert it as an 
indisputable fact. If in a week from this you are not as 
well as you ever were in your life, I will give you leave 
to call me an impostor.” 

“Really, Francis, you surprise me!” she said, with 
animation. “ In fact I believe I do feel better. But I 
have been sick — you admit that ?” 

“ Oh, most certainly,” I said, rejoiced to perceive the 
beneficial effects of my mental prescription. “You have 
been very sick, and within an hour have been nigh unto 
death ; but, thank Heaven, the crisis has passed, and you 
have nothing to do now but recover as fast as possible.” 

“ But what is, or has been, my ailment ?” 

Here I remembered the suggestion of Teddy, and 
quickly mumbled over a long string of Latin names, 
with scientific explanations, much to the satisfaction of 
everybody but myself. 

The spectators, who had crowded around to hear 
what I had to say — being, with but two or three excep- 
tions, good, honest farmers and farmers’ wives — nodded 
approval to each other, and gave me many a respectful 
glance, equivalent to telling me that my first case, with- 
out a single dose, had with them established my reputa- 
tion as a skillful physician. Oh, the magic of big-sound- 
ing words ! I would advise doctors and lawyers to use 
them on all occasions. 

News of my decision, regarding the patient, flew 
rapidly from one to another — lighting each countenance, 
before gloomy, with a smile of pleasure — until it reached 


AJVO THER STRANGE DISCO VER Y. 


239 


the ear of Lilian ; who, just recovering from the effects^ 
of her swoon, uttered a cry of joy ; and, much to the 
surprise and satisfaction of those engaged in restoring 
her, suddenly sprung away from them and rushed to her 
f mother. 

I “ Oh, mother,” she cried, “ I have heard such good 
I tidings!” 

“ All true, every word,” returned her mother, gayly. 

' “ My physician has pronounced me out of danger ;” 
and she playfully pointed to me. 

“God be praised 1” cried Lilian, fervently. “What 
a miracle is this ! and how it relieves my anguished 
heart 1” 

Then turning upon me her sweet, pale, lovely coun- 
tenance — her full, soft, blue eyes, moist with tears — she 
partly extended her hand, and gasped my name. 

The next instant, regardless of time, place and the 
presence of others, she was clasped in my arms, strained 
to my heaving breast, and my lips were pressed to hers 
in the holy kiss Of mutual love. 

It was a blissful moment, notwithstanding all we had 
both suffered. But it was a moment only ; for the next 
instant she sprung away, blushing and abashed at what 
she doubtless considered her own boldness. 

“ You’re a wonderful docthor, your honor,” whispered 
Teddy in my ear. “ Faith ! ye jist looks at ’em, and jab- 
bers a few Lathin names, and they’re betther’n they iver 
was — afore they’ve time to know what ailed ’em, jist — 
and, troth ! a hugging yees at that, too, the purtiest one 
among ’em. Is it knowin’ thim ye is? or does the likes 
of her kiss by raason of yees being a docthor ? Jabers ! 
it’s what I’d like done to mesilf, now, in any perfishion !” 

“ Hush, Teddy ! These are the sister and mother of 
my lost friend, Charles Huntly.” 

“ Oh, howly Moses ! did I iver, now !” exclaimed 
Teddy, staggering back with surprise. 

“Hush 1” I whispered in his ear, catching him by the 
arm with a grip sufficient to impress the importance of 
my words. “ Not a syllable concerning Huntly, as you 
value your life 1” 

“Agh!” returned Teddy, placing his finger to his 


240 ANOTHER STRANGE DISCOVERY. 


lips, winking his eye, and nodding his head : “ I’m 
whist as a dead buzzard, I is.” 

This caution was not made any too soon, for the 
next moment Mrs. Huntly exclaimed : 

“But, Francis, where is rny son? Where is Charles, 
that he does not make his appearance ?” 

“Oh, yes, my brother?” cried Lilian. 

I was suddenly seized with a serious fit of coughing, 
so as to gain time for a reply. It would not do to let 
them know the true state of the case, and I could not 
think of tplling them a falsehood. A happy thought 
struck me, and I answered : 

“Charles is not with me.” 

“Indeed! Where is he, then?” cried both in a 
breath. 

“ We parted in California ; I left him going east- 
ward ; and, for what I know, he may be now in Boston.” 

“ God help him, then, when he hears the awful 
news, and finds himself homeless and friendless, poor 
boy !” cried Mrs. Huntly, with a burst of grief, in which 
Lilian joined. 

I now inquired what had happened ; and learned, in 
the course of conversation, much of that which I have 
already given the reader. 

“ Poor Charles !” I sighed to myself ; “ it is well if he 
is dead ! Better be dead than return to a once happy 
home, only to find his friends gone and himself a beg- 
gar 1” 

With Lilian and her mother, in their misfortunes, I 
sympathized deeply ; but fearing these saddening 
thoughts might prove injurious to Mrs. Huntly, I hast- 
ened to console her, by saying : 

“We should bear in mind that all are born to die; 
that riches are unstable ; and that whatever happens, is 
always for the best, though we may not be able to think 
so at the time.” 

“ That I believe to be the true philosophy of life !” 
said a middle-aged lady at my side, whom, with her 
daughter, a meet companion for Lilian, I had more than 
once noticed, as possessing superior accomplishments — 


AiVOTIIER STRANGE E/SCO VERY. 241 


though, under the press of excitement, I had failed to 
closely scan the features of either. 

I now turned at once to the speaker, and was imme- 
diately introduced by Lilian to Madame Mortimer and 
her daughter Eva. 

“ Strange !” I said to myself, as, bowing to each, 
I became struck with the familiarity of their features. 
“ I have seen these faces before, methinks — but where I 
cannot tell.’' 

The name, however, perplexed me — for I had no 
remembrance of ever having before been introduced to a 
Mortimer. 

“ Your countenance seems familiar,” I said, address- 
ing the elder lady. 

“ And so does yours, sir !” she replied ; “ and for the 
last half hour I have been trying to recall where I have 
seen you — but In vain.” 

Suddenly the whole truth flashed upon me. 

“Were you not in New York with your daughter 
some two years since ?” I inquired, eagerly. 

“I was.” 

“ At the National Theatre, on the night it was 
burned ?” 

“ I was.” 

“ Did not some one rescue your daughter frpm the 
flames ?” 

“ Gracious Heaven ! yes ; I remember now — I re- 
member !” she exclaimed, a good deal agitated. “It was 
you, sir — you ! I thought I knew those features !” and, 
excited by powerful emotions, she seized both of my hands 
in hers, and, pressing them warmly, uttered a “ God 
bless you!” while her eyes filled with tears of grati- 
tude. 

Eva was too much affected to trust her voice in 
the utterance of a single word — but her look spoke 
volumes. 

What a strange combination of startling events had 
this night revealed to me ! How mysteriously had 
Providence arranged and put them together for some 
great design 1 Who could have imagined that the mere 
act of saving a fellow creature’s life— a stranger at that, 


II 


242 ANOTHER STRANGE DISCOVERY. 


in a strange city — and leaving her without knowing her 
name, or even her residence, for along journey of many 
thousand miles— was to have a direct bearing upon my 
future destiny and that of my friend ? Yet such was the 
fact ; and however unimportant the incident might have 
appeared at the time to the reader — however irrelative to 
the main story — yet on that very circumstance, unknown 
to any, was depending many of the important events which 
followed those already described, and which in due time 
will be given. 

It was with sensations peculiar to each, that these 
matters were narrated and commented upon for the next 
two hours ; and doubtless not one who heard the strange 
and romantic story of how I had saved the life of Eva 
Mortimer, but felt his most trivial act to result from the 
hidden design of a Higher Power. 

As for myself, such a chaos of ideas crowded my 
brain as made it impossible for me to describe what I 
thought, or what feeling had the preponderance, unless it 
wore a mingling of pleasure and sadness. 

Only one thing now seemed wanting to make me 
joyful ; and that, alas ! was my friend. Had he been 
present, notwithstanding all adverse circumstances, my 
heart would have bounded with rapture. 

And he ! what would have been his feelings, thus to 
have met, in propria personcz., the idol of his dreams ? thus 
to have been placed in direct communion with Eva 
Mortimer — the beautiful Unknown? 


END OF A JOURNEY. 


243 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

THE END OF A LONG JOURNEY. 

T was late in the night, and all had become 
still in the encampment. The animals — con- 
sisting of mules, horses, oxen and cows — 
had been driven together and tethered, and 
were taking their repose. 

In the area, formed by the wagons, two fires were 
burning, at one of which sat Teddy and myself, half 
dozing, with our rifles resting against our shoulders. 
We had volunteered our services as sentinels for the 
night, but our watch could hardly be termed vigilant. 

In the surrounding vehicles the emigrants were 
already giving evidence of that sound sleep which in- 
dicates health and weariness and a cessation of the 
physical and mental faculties. 

I was, as I said before, in a half-dozing state. I 
had been conning over the many singular pranks of 
fortune connected with myself, and particularly the 
wonderful revelations of the last six or eight hours. I 
had been musing upon the complicated web of man’s ex- 
istence, and already had my thoughts begun to wander 
as in a dream. 

A rumbling sound, like the roaring of a distant water- 
fall, caught my ear. Gradually it grew louder and 
nearer, until I fancied I could detect the pattering of a 
horse’s feet upon the hard earth. 

Nearer and nearer it came, and I found my impres- 
sion confirmed. It was a horse at full speed ; but what 
could it mean ? 

Suddenly Teddy sprung up and tightly grasped his 
rifle. 

We now both darted outside the circle of wagons. 

By the dim light we beheld a horse and rider rapidly 
dashing up the valley. 



244 


END OF A JOURNEY. 


The next moment the beast was reined in to a dead 
halt, some twenty yards distant. 

“Who goes there?” I cried, 

“ A friend,” was the answer, in a clear, silvery voice. 
“Be on your guard, or you will be surprised by In- 
dians !” 

Heavens ! I should know those tones ! Could it be 
possible ? 

“ Prairie Flower ?” I called. 

“ Ha ! who are you ?” was the answer ; and the next 
moment the coal-black pony, and his beautiful, mysteri- 
ous rider, stood by my side. 

“ Prairie Flower ! and do we indeed meet again ?” 

“ Who are you ?” said she, bending down to scrutinize 
my features. “Ah! is it indeed possible!” she con- 
tinued, with no little agitation, as she recognized me. 
“ How you have altered ! I — I — but I have no time to 
talk ! I must not be seen here. It would cost me my life. 
I may see you again. Be on your guard ! How strange ! 
I never thought to see you again. I must go !” 

These sentences were uttered rapidly, almost inco- 
herently, while the voice of the spea,ker trembled, and 
there seemed a wildness in her manner. 

On concluding, she tightened her rein, as if to depart 
— but still lingered, as if to add something more. 

“ Heaven bless you. Prairie Flower ! you are always 
seeking the good of others.” 

She sighed, turned her head away, and strove to say 
carelessly : 

“Your friend — I — I — is well — is he ?” 

1 “ Alas ! I cannot answer.” 

“ Ha ! what ! how ! ” she cried, quickly, turning full 
upon me, and grasping my arm, which chanced to be 
resting on the neck of her pony. “ Explain !” and I felt 
her grasp tighten. 

I hurriedly related our last parting. 

For some moments she did not reply, while her whole 
frame trembled violently. At length she withdrew her 
hand, tightened the rein again, and gasped the single 
word : 

“ Farewell !” 


END OF A JOURNEY. 


245 


Ere I had time for another syllable, her pony was 
speeding away like the wind ; and ere I had recovered 
from my surprise, both were lost in the darkness. 

So sudden had all this happened, that I felt completely 
bewildered. Was I dreaming ? 

A word from Teddy aroused me. 

Dispatching him to the trappers, to ask their assist- 
ance, I flew back to the larger encampment and gave the 
alarm. 

Instantly the whole camp was in commotion ; and, 
amid the cries of women and children, the men grasped 
their arms and sprung from their coverts, excited and 
pale, but ready to meet danger without flinching in de- 
fense of those whose lives they prized above their own. 

I hurried round the camp to quiet the fears of the 
weaker members, by telling them there was little or no 
danger— that the Indians, if they came at all, finding us 
ready to receive them, would not risk an attack. 

In this, much to my surprise, I was shortly aided by 
Lilian and Eva, both of whom displayed a heroic cool- 
ness, and presence of mind, and fearlessness of danger, 
for which, among all the virtues I had allowed them, I 
had given them no credit whatever. Had I been required, 
before this event, to select the most timid of the party, I 
should have pointed them out first. Modest, unassuming, 
retiring in their manners, weak in physical powers, un- 
used to hardships and dangers, with a superior refinement 
in thought and feeling, I had supposed they would be 
the first to shrink at any alarm. Judge of my astonish- 
ment, then, when I saw them gliding over the earth, as 
over a soft carpet, and, with scarcely an appearance of 
fear, by their acts and language shaming the more 
frightened to silence. 

The arrival of the trappers, too, well armed, and 
their seeming indifference to danger, reassured all in a 
measure, and served to restore order and quiet. 

Hastily organizing, we marched outside the wagons, 
and took up our position so as to watch and guard any 
point of compass, not knowing at which the foe might 
make his appearance and onset. 

All relapsed into silence, in which manner an hour 


246 


END OF A JOURNEY, 


was passed, and we were beginning to think the alarm 
false, when one of the men espied a dark object, as he 
fancied, slowly nearing him. 

Without a second thought, crack went his rifle ; and 
instantly, as if by magic, a dark spot to the north of us 
became peopled by some fifty savages ; who, finding 
themselves discovered, and doubtless thinking this the 
alarm of the sentinel, uttered frightful yells and sprung 
forward in a body. 

Rushing to the point of attack, we hastily formed a 
line, and, placing our rifles to our shoulders, silently 
waited until not more than twenty yards divided us from 
the main body of our enemies. 

“Fire!” cried a voice; and instantly a dozen rifles 
poured their deadly contents among the dusky liorde, 
with good effect, as could be told by several frightful 
groans of pain. 

This was a reception the savages had not counted on, 
and they in turn became alarmed. 

Suddenly pausing, they uttered yells of dismay, and, 
discharging their pieces at random, the balls of which 
whistled past us without a single injury, they turned and 
fled precipitately. 

The victory was ours, and to Prairie Flower we owed 
our lives. 

The remainder of the night we kept to our arms, but 
were not again disturbed, and by sunrise the whole party 
was on the move up the mountains. 

As I could not think of parting with my friends 
(above all with Lilian) in the wilderness, I resolved to 
accompany them to their destination ; and then to — to — 
I scarcely knew what. 

Teddy of course went with me ; and the trappers, in 
a spirit of friendship, kept us company many days. 

I .shall not weary you, reader, with a detail of all the 
little incidents of our tedious progress to Oregon City. 

Suffice, that it was such as all emigrants experience 
in a greater or less degree, and was attended with a suc- 
cession of scenes similar to those described throughout 
these pages. 

As I had predicted, the health of Mrs. Huntly was 


END OF A JOURNEY. 


247 


gradually restored ; and within ten days from the com- 
mencement of her convalescence, she declared herself as 
well as at any period of her life ; and that the word of 
her young doctor, as she jokingly termed me, was equal 
in effect to the combined virtues of the whole tnateria 
medica. 

The return of Mrs. Huntly’s strength and spirits, 
brought pleasure to the eye and bloom to the cheek of 
Lilian, which my daily presence, as I was vain enough to 
flatter myself, did not tend to lessen. 

Be that as it may (and I leave the reader to judge), 
this long journey, so full of hardship and peril, how- 
ever unpleasant it might have proved to her, and to 
others, I must ever look back to with pleasure, as one 
of the happiest periods of my so far eventful life. 

Crossing the Rocky Mountains at the well-known 
South Pass, we continued on the regular Oregon route ; 
passed Fort Hall ; went down the Snake River and over 
the Salmon Mountains to Fort Boise ; through the 
country of Shoshones, or Snake Indians, over the Blue 
Mountains to Fort Walla Walla, on the Columbia ; down 
the Columbia, over the Cascade range, to Oregon City, 
on the pleasant little Willamette ; where we all safely ar- 
rived about the middle of December. 

At this period, as I have before remarked, Oregon 
City existed only in name — being, with the exception of 
a few log houses, (erected during the summer and fall 
previous, by a few emigrants, who had reached here in 
advance of our party,) a complete wilderness. 

The appearance of the place, so different from what 
they had expected to find it, disheartened my worthy 
friends not a little ; and had such a thing then been pos- 
sible, I believe they would at once have returned to 
their native land. 

But this was out of the question ; there was no help 
for their oversight now, only by making the best of a 
bad bargain ; and so, after having grumbled to their 
hearts’ content — wished Oregon for the thousandth time 
at the bottom of the sea, and themselves back home as 
many — they set to work in earnest to provide themselves 


248 


END OF A JOURNEY, 


homes for the winter, declaring that spring should see 
them on their way to the States. 

With proper energy, properly directed, a great deal 
maybe accomplished in a very short time ; and in less 
than two weeks from their earnest commencement, no 
less than eight or ten cabins were added to the few al- 
ready there. 

Into these the different families removed themselves 
and their goods, Teddy and I taking up our abode in that 
appropriated to Mrs. Huntly. 

Although without any effects save such as had been 
brought with them, and short of provisions also, yet, by 
one means and another, all managed to get through the 
winter as comfortably as could be expected ; and in- 
stead of preparing to return, spring found the majority 
of the new settlers ‘entering lands, determined on mak- 
ing this their future residence, be the consequences what 
they might. 

Some three or four, among whom w^as Madame Mor- 
timer and her daughter, were still disaffected, and would 
gladly have retraced their steps ; but they could not find 
companions enough to make the journey safe, and there- 
fore against their will were forced to remain. 

Oregon City I found beautifully located on the 
eastern bank of the Willamette ; and, from what I could 
judge, destined, at no very distant period, to become a 
great mart of the Far West. 

Here I remained through the winter ; and as it proved 
open and mild, I employed my time in hunting and fish- 
ing, and conversing with the only being I truly loved. 

Had my friend been with me, I should have looked 
upon the place as a perfect paradise ; but thoughts of 
him, of what might be his fate, would steal over me in 
my most joyous moments and cloud my brow with 
gloom. 

These singular changes were noted by Lilian and 
others with feelings of surprise ; and frequently was I 
questioned by the former regarding them ; but I ever 
avoided a direct answer. 

Neither Lilian nor her mother knew the true cause of 
Charles Huntly’s absence ; and though I often meditated 


END OF A JOURNEY. 


249 


telling them, yet, when it came to the point, I ever 
shrunk from the painful task of making both wretched. 
He might be living ; and the bare possibility of such a 
thing, I thought sufficient to justify me in keeping them 
in blissful ignorance of what I supposed to be his real 
fate. Both fondly anticipated seeing him the coming 
summer ; not doubting he had gone to the East ; and 
that, so soon as he should receive tidings of their loca- 
tion, he would set out to join them. 

I had no such hopes — but I dared not tell them so. 

It was a lovely day in the spring of 1843. On the 
banks of the romantic Willamette, under the shade of a 
large tree, I was seated. By my side — with her sweet 
face averted and crimson with blushes, her right hand 
clasped in mine, her left unconsciously toying with a 
beautiful flower, which failed to rival her own fair self — 
sat Lilian Huntly. It was one of those peculiar moments 
which are distinctly remembered through life. I had just 
offered her my hand and fortune, and was waiting, 
with all the trembling impatience of a lover, to hear the 
result. 

“ Say, Lilian, sweet Lilian, will you be mine?” 

Her lily hand trembled, I felt its velvet-like pressure, 
but her tongue had lost the power of utterance. It was 
enough ; and the next moment she was strained to my 
heart, with a joy too deep for words. 

“And when shall it be? when shall my happiness be 
consummated, dear Lilian ?” I at length ventured to ask. 

For a time she did not reply ; and then raising her 
angelic face, and fastening her soft, beaming eyes, moist 
with tears of joy, upon mine, she said, in a low, sweet, 
tremulous tone : 

“ On the day when we are all made glad by the presence 
of my brother.'' 

“ Alas !” groaned I, mentally ; “that day may never 
come !” 


ir 


250 


KEEPING MY SECRET, 


CHAPTER XXX. 


KEEPING MY SECRET. 



T was the first day of June, in the year of our 
Lord 1843. Already the earth felt the genial 
air of summer, and looked as smiling as a gay 
maiden in her teens. The blade had covered 
the ground with a carpet of matchless green ; 
amid which, their lovely faces half concealed, bright 
flowers of a hundred varieties peeped modestly forth, to 
render the landscape enchanting, giving their sweet 
breath to a southern breeze that softly stole over them. 
The trees in every direction were in full foliage, and 
already among them could be seen green bunches of 
embryo fruits. It was in fact a delightful day, a delight- 
ful season of the year, and a delightful scene upon which 
I gazed, with feelings, alas ! that had more in them of 
sadness than joy. 

I was still in Oregon City ; yet two months had flown 
since on the banks of the romantic Willamette I had 
offered my hand, heart and fortune to Lilian Huntly, 
and had been by her accepted, only to find the nuptial 
day prolonged to an indefinite period — the return of my 
friend and her brother. 

I did not describe my feelings then to the reader, but 
they had really been very painful. I had deceived Lilian 
and her mother, I knew, in leading them to hope, even, 
for tlie return of Charles Huntly ; and I felt stung to 
the very sowl as one guilty of a crime. 

What should I do ? had often since been my mental 
question. Should I avow all to Lilian and make her 
wretched by destroying all hope of ever seeing Charles 
again?-, or should I still let her remain in blissful igno- 
rance of his fate, and look in vain to the future for the con- 
summation of her ardent wishes ? It was a painful dilem- 
ma. The first was the most open, upright and straightfor- 
ward manner of settling the matter, most undoubtedly ; 


KEEPING MY SECRET. 


251 


and conscience and a first impulse had urged me to it ; but 
then a doubt in my own mind that he was really dead — a 
faint, a very faint hope that he might sometime return to 
his friends — a loathing to inflict a wound upon the affec- 
tionate heart I loved, which time alone could heal — per- 
haps cause needless suffering to one who had already 
suffered enough — had restrained me ; and between a 
desire to do right, and a fear to do wrong, I had done 
nothing but muse abstractedly. 

Thus days had rolled on, one after another, and the 
end of May had found me as undecided as ever ; and 
though daily basking in the smiles of Lilian, and listen- 
ing to her artless words of musical sweetness, not even a 
hint had I ever thrown out regarding what I knew of her 
brother. 

Often had she mentioned him, but always in a way to 
denote she scarcely had a doubt of seeing him the com- 
ing summer ; and the thought that she must be disap- 
pointed, had tended to make me sad and melancholy. I 
had never objected to the indefinite period fixed on for 
our wedding, for the simple reason that to object would 
have been to subject myself to an inquiry into the cause, 
and this I feared. What ought I to do ? The question 
had come up night and day, at all times and in all 
places, and had troubled me sorely — so much so, in fact, 
that I now began to fear its effects upon my constitu- 
tion. 

At last I resolved to tell her all ; and for this purpose 
I invited her one morning to our usual stroll on the 
banks of the Willamette. 

The day was fine, and everything around beauti- 
ful. 

We took our way directly to the falls, and paused 
upon a bluff immediately over the rolling, sparkling 
waters. 

This bluff, which is the bank of the stream at Oregon 
City, varies from twenty to eighty feet in height, and, 
running back, forms the level upon which the town was 
then just beginning to be laid out. 

The scene was charming, notwithstanding it was in 
the wilderness. A beautiful forest stretched away on 


252 


KEEPING MY SECRET. 


either hand ; below us rolled the river, roaring over the 
falls ; and on the opposite side rose similar bluffs, 
and another pleasant forest. It seemed a place fitted for 
the communion of lovers, and here lalian and I had 
whiled away our happiest hours. Here I had offered her 
my hand, here I had been accepted, and of course the 
scene could not but recall pleasant associations. 

Hither then we strayed ; and as we paused above the 
bright river, Lilian exclaimed, with a look of joy : 

“ Oh, it will be so delightful when Charles joins 
us ! Do you know what I have determined on, Frank 
Surely not,” I answered. 

“ Do you see that level yonder (pointing down the 
stream), which sets off so pleasantly below this, shaded 
by those tall, old trees ?” 

“Ay, I see, Lilian.” 

“ Well, there I have planned having such a picnic, on 
the day when — when we — ” 

She paused and blushed, and glanced timidly at me, 
as if expecting I would complete the sentence. 

I did not, for my mind was busy with sad thoughts. 

“Now,” thought I, “is the time to tell her all.” 

But how should I begin to pain her? 

I was uneasy, and felt miserable, and doubtless looked 
as I felt, for the next moment she exclaimed, in some 
alarm : 

“Why, Francis, what is the matter? You look so 
pale ! Has anything happened ?” 

“ Nothing new.” 

“ What then ? You always look so pained when I 
allude to brother Charles ! Surely there must be some 
cause ! Have you kept anything hidden from me ? 
Speak, Francis ! You left him well, did you not ?” and 
she grasped my arm, and looked earnestly in my face. 

“I did, Lilian.” 

“ Well, what then ? You must have no secrets from 
me now, you know.” 

I would have to tell her, I thought, and there could 
never be a better time than this. 

“ Lilian,” I began, and my voice trembled as I spoke : 
“ Lilian, I—” 


KEEPING MY SECRET. 


253 


“ What ho, my lovers ! are you here ?” shouted a 
merry voice. “ I thought I should find you here and 
I the next moment we were joined by the gay, light- 
I hearted Eva Mortimer. “ In the name of humanity,” she 
said, as she came bounding up to us, “ what makes you 
both look so pale ? Not making love again, I hope !” and 
she ended with a ringing laugh, which, however pleasant 
it might have sounded at another time, now jarred most 
discordantly with the feelings of both. 

“No, not exactly making love. Miss Mortimer,” I 
answered, turning to her with a forced smile, and, if 
truth must be owned, rather rejoiced than otherwise that 
she had broken off what must have proved a painful 
interview. 

“ Well,” she rejoined, playfully, brushing back her 
dark ringlets with one of the prettiest, white, dimpled 
hands in the world, “ I am^glad to hear that ; for I feared, 
from your sober looks, ydn were either getting into a 
1 lover’s quarrel, or going over a nameless scene that was 
enacted here some weeks ago ;” and she looked mean- 
ingly, first at Lilian, who colored deeply, and then at me, 
who I fancied stood it like a philosopher. “ Come,” she 
added, in the same gay tone, “ I have use for you both all 
day. We — that is I, and my good mother, and yours, 
Lilian, and some others — have decided on going to see a 
beautiful lake, which, we are told, ornaments a certain 
fern bluff that you see away yonder, some half a mile 
back of this magnificent city. City indeed !” she con- 
tinued, with a curl of the lip. “Why, it might be stolen 
from the suburbs of Boston, or any other place of note, 
and never be missed. But mother would come in spite 
of me, and when she takes a notion into her head she 
must carry it out. She wishes herself back now, and I 
join her with all my heart ; but, heighho ! I suppose I 
shall have to spend my days here, for I see no mean’s of 
getting away. But I will tease her, though — I am 
pledged to that — and that will be some comfort, and 
save me dying of eniiui. Oregon City! Umph 1 I 
thought it would turn out to be woods before I came, 
and I told her so — but she would not believe me. Come, 
Mr. Leighton, don’t be standing there looking so sober I 


254 


KEEPING MY SECRET. 


nor you, my bonnie Lilian. I am going to have you 
along ; and if I don’t make you laugh, why, I will turn in 
and cry myself. Only to think of being here without a 
lover ! It don’t matter with you, Lilian, for you have 
got one ; but think of me — in pity do ! Nobody here 
but some thick-headed rustics that don’t know how to 
make love. I wish your brother would come, Lilian — I 
am dying to see him ! He saved my life, you know ; and 
so I am bound, by all the rules of novels, to fall in love 
with him out of pure gratitude.” 

“ You will not need gratitude, I fancy,” added I, with 
a sigh at the thought of him, ‘‘ should you ever be fortu- 
nate enough to see him — for he is a noble fellow, and one 
I think to your liking.” 

“Ah!” she sighed ; ‘‘you need not tell me he is a 
noble fellow — for none but such would have risked his 
life as he did for a stranger. I have been in love with 
him ever since I heard about it, though I had long ago 
given up all hope of ever seeing him.” 

“ And he will be ready, I will vouch for him, to recip- 
rocate the tender feeling.” 

“ Do you think so ?” she said, slightly blushing, and 
her eyes sparkling. “ Oh, that will be so romantic 1 and 
I love romance dearly. I will have him down upon his 
knees at every frown ; and I will frown twenty times a 
day, just to have him down upon his knees. Now that 
will be making love to some purpose, eh ?” And giving 
vent to a ringing laugh, she added, taking my arm : 
“ Come, don’t let us keep the good people waiting, or 
they may get off the notion, and I would not miss seeing 
the lake for a costly ruby.” 

My design of telling a sad tale was thus broken olf, 
and, as I said before, I was not sorry for it. 

Arm in arm with the two I returned to what was de- 
nominated the village, Eva the while chatting away 
gayly, flying from one thing to another, but ever adroitly 
returning to Charles Huntly, showing that he now occu- 
pied no small share of her thoughts. 


RESOLVE TO SEEK MY FRIEND. 255 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

RESOLVE TO SEEK MY FRIEND. 

CM the conversation recorded in the preced- 
ing chapter, if will be seen that Eva Mortimer 
was a very different being from Lilian 
Huntly ; and as she is destined to figure some- 
what conspicuously in these pages, I consider 
the present a good opportunity to describe her. 

In person Eva Mortimer was slightly above medium, 
with a form well developed, and a bust of rare beauty. 
Her complexion was clear and dark, though scarcely 
sufficient to entitle her to the appellation of brunette. 
Her soft, hazel eyes, shaded by silken lashes, were very 
expressive, and could look love languishingly, or sparkle 
with mirth, anger, or any of the passions of impulse. 
Her features were regular and very prepossessing, with a 
nose slightly aquiline, and mouth and lips as tempting as 
one would care to look upon. 

Her disposition accorded with her looks. At heart 
she was open and generous, with a desire to please and 
be pleased, let fortune smile or frown. Her spirits were 
almost ever buoyant, and it required a strong cause to 
depress them. Very different from some, she could not 
easily be brought to consider this bright earth as only a 
graveyard, and herself a mournful inhabitant, ever stalk- 
ing among tombs. She did not believe in storm, and 
cloud, and dreariness, so much as in an open sky, sun- 
shine, cheerfulness and joy. It would have required 
great depth of reasoning to convince her that God had 
placed man here expressly to mope out his days in gloom 
and sorrow, either real or imaginary. She did not fancy 
the dark side of the picture ; and, full of the poetry of an 
ardent temperament, there was to her in the sunshine, the 
breeze, the leaf, the blade, the flower, the mount, the vale, 
the storm, and in fact in everything of nature, something 
to excite joy rather than sadness. Whatever her fortune, 



256 RESOLVE TO SEEK MY FRIEND, 


she took care to make the best of it and not repine. She 
was lively even to gayety, and could rattle on for hours 
in a light, frolicsome strain, calculated to mislead such 
as looked not below the mere-- surface ; but those who 
judged Eva Mortimer by this, judged wrongly; for be- 
neath was a heart as warm, as earnest, as pure, as true, 
as ever beat in the breast of woman. This was the 
drift, the foam, that floated along on the strong current 
of a noble mind. 

Had you seen and listened to her in her merry moods, 
you would have thought perhaps she had no mind 
above trifles, or beyond the mere present ; that she was 
vain and coquettish to a fault ; that she would take no 
delight in serious meditation ; and yet you could not 
easily have erred more in judgment. 

I have seen her alone, in the night, gazing at the stars, 
when she thought no human eye beheld her. I have 
watched her musing over a flower, which she patiently 
dissected, as if to lay bare its mysteries ; over the pebbles 
which she had gathered in some ramble ; over a leaf, a 
blade of grass ; in fact over whatever had chanced in her 
path ; and all in away to show her possessed of inindy and 
that of the highest order. 

There were but few in her present locality who really 
knew Eva Mortimer, and none who seemed to appreciate 
her as did Lilian. 

In their short acquaintance, these two bright beings 
had become friends ; not in the cold, unmeaning term of 
the world — but friends sincere and true, and bound by 
a tie beyond the power of death itself to sever. Like the 
magnet and the needle had they come together, to be held 
by attractions peculiar to themselves. To each other 
their hearts were ever open ; and the joys and sorrows of 
tiie one, were the joys and sorrows of the other. They 
talked together, walked together, read together (each had 
brought a few choice books), sang together, and both 
ever seemed happier on all occasions for the other’s pres- 
ence. They were nearly of the same age, of different 
temperaments, and united like the different strings of a 
harp to bring forth nothing but music. In short, they 
loved each other — not with the evanescent love of fiery 


RESOLVE TO SEEK MY FRIEJSTD. 257 


passion, which burns and freezes alternately— but with 
that deeper and truer love which springs from admiration 
of, and dependence on, in a measure, the qualities we do 
not possess ourselves. It was a holy love — the love of two 
fair maidens just budding into womanhood. 

Of the early history of Eva Mortimer I at this time 
knew but little, and this I had gleaned from Lilian. 

Her mother, a woman between forty and fifty years 
of age, was a native of England, of wealthy parentage, 
but not of noble birth. 

Some twenty-five years before the date of these events, 
she had clandestinely married a French exile, apparently 
without name or fortune, rather for the love of romance, 
and because she was strongly opposed by her friends, 
than for any real affection which she had felt toward 
the individual himself. 

This proceeding had so incensed her parents, that 
they had cast her off ; but, unlike most parents in such 
cases, unwilling she should suffer too much, they had 
offered her a life annuity that would keep her above 
want, on condition that she should quit the country 
immediately and return to it no more. 

To this she had readily assented ; and shortly after, 
with her husband, had embarked for America, and had 
finally settled at Quebec, in Canada, where for several 
years they had continued to live together — though not, it 
must be confessed, in the most harmonious manner. 

Being rather headstrong and self-willed, and withal 
possessed of an independence, Madame Mortimer had 
sought to have everything her own way, and had not 
scrupled occasionally to make her husband feel that he 
washer debtor for every luxury he enjoyed. 

Of a proud spirit, and a temper somewhat irritable, 
he had not displayed any too much Christian humility, 
meekness and resignation, and many a bitter quarrel had 
been the consequence. 

Time rolled on, and at the end of five years she had 
given birth to female twins. Both had been hoping for a 
male heir ; and consequently this event, instead of mend- 
ing, had rather served to widen, tne breach. Quarrel had 
then succeeded quarrel ; and as love was wanting to 


258 RESOLVE TO SEEK MY FRIEND. 


harmonize two opposing spirits, it had at last been found 
r necessary to separate. 

Two years had so passed, when one morning Morti- 
mer had come into the presence of his wife, with a letter 
in his hand, and had abruptly announced his intention of 
leaving her. 

“As you like,” Madame Mortimer had coolly replied. 

Mortimer had turned and left her, nor had she ever 
beheld him since. 

The night following, the twin sister of Eva had dis- 
appeared ; and the most diligent inquiries, together with 
the offer of a large reward, had failed in restoring her to 
her anxious mother. 

The effect of this upon Madame Mortimer had proved 
very severe — for she loved both her children dearly — and 
a nervous fever had followed and nearly cost her her 
life. 

Soon after this she had received news of her father’s 
death ; and that, having repented of his rashness, he had 
left her a rich legacy, with permission to return to Eng- 
land. 

To England therefore she went ; and there had re- 
mained, superintending the education of Eva, until a de- 
sire for travel had brought her once more to this country, 
whither she had come in company with her daughter and 
a wealthy American lady, whose acquaintance had been 
made across the water, and who had subsequently intro- 
duced her into New York society, simply as Madame 
Mortimer, without a word of explanation, this being at 
her own earnest request. 

Thus it was, as I have before mentioned, that none 
who had met her in society had been able to learn who 
she was or whence she came, and this had doubtless 
added -to her popularity. 

This was all I had been able to gather from Lilian ; 
and all, in fact, she knew ; and this had been picked up 
at different times, from remarks that had escaped the lips 
of Eva in her more communicative moods. 

In person, Madame Mortimer was large, with a full, 
handsome countenance, expressive, black eyes, and a 
bearing dignified and queen-like. At heart she was 


RESOLVE TO SEEK MY FRIEND. 259 


kind and affectionate ; and doubtless, had she been 
properly mated, would have made an exemplary wife. 
Her passions, when excited, were strong even to vio- 
lence, with a temper haughty and unyielding to an equal, 
but subdued and mild to an inferior. She loved pas- 
sionately, and hated bitterly. With her, as a general 
thing, there was no medium. She liked or disliked, 
and carried both to extremes. She was a woman of 
strong mind, much given to thought and reflection, an 
acute observer of everthing around her, and just suf- 
ficiently eccentric to throw the freshness of originality 
over all she said or did. She would do what she thought 
was proper, without regard to the opinion of others, or 
to what the world would say. She had resolved on a 
[ journey to Oregon, not for any particular purpose, but 
I merely to carry out a whim and see the country. She 
i had done both, was dissatisfied with her present locality, 

' and now designed returning to the States at the first 
favorable opportunity. 

Of the fate of her brother, Lilian still remained ig- 
norant ; for, after the interruption of Eva, I could never 
I summon enough moral courage to again attempt the 
sad narration. 

As time replied on, I became more and more de- 
pressed in spirits, and more perplexed as to the course 
I should pursue. 

It was not impossible, I began to reason, that Charles 
Huntly might be living ; and the more I pondered on 
this, the more I was inclined to believe it the case. 

He had been lost mysteriously, in a part of the world 
notoriously infested with robbers and Indians. If cap- 
tured by the former, there was no argument against the 
supposition that he had been plundered and sold into 
slavery. If by the latter, might he not have been adopted 
by some tribe, and now be a prisoner ? In either case, was 
1 not in duty bound to go in quest of him ? and, if found, 
to rescue him from a horrible doom, either by ransom or 
force ? 

“ At all events,” I said to myself, “ I can but fail, and 
may succeed.” 

On leaving home, I had supplied myself with a large 


26 o J^£SOLFjS to seek MY FRIEND. 


amount of gold to meet all contingencies, and but little 
of this had been expended. I could, perhaps, engage a 
party, for a reasonable sum, to accompany me ; and this, 
after duly weighing all the circumstances, I now decided 
to attempt. I would let Lilian and the others suppose I 
had gone home, and that I should probably return with 
Charles Huntly. 

Having settled the matter in my own mind, I resolved 
on immediate action, and for this purpose called Teddy 
aside to communicate my intention. 

“Teddy,” I began, gravely, “ did you love your for- 
mer master?” 

“ Me masther?” repeated the Irishman, with a look of 
curious inquiry ; “and sure of who is’t ye’re spaking, 
yer honor ?” 

“ Of Charles Huntly.” 

“ Did I love him, is’t ? Faith, and does a snapping 
turtle love to bite, or a drunkard to drink, that ye ax me 
that now? Love him? Troth, and was he livin’. I’d go 
to the ind of the world and jump off, jist to plase him, 
and so I would.” 

“ It may be, Teddy, you can serve him more effectually 
than by a proceeding so dangerous.” 

“ Sarve him, is’t! Och, now. I’d be afther knowing 
of that same 1” 

“ I have taken a fancy into my head that he is liv- 
ing.” 

“ Mother of Moses ! ye don’t say the likes !” ex- 
claimed the Hibernian, holding up both hands in aston- 
ishment. “ Ye’s joking, sure, your honor ?” 

“No, Teddy, I am serious as a judge. I have always 
had some faint doubts of his death, and now these doubts 
have grown strong enough to induce me to set off in 
search of him ;” and I proceeded to give my reasons. 

“ Ah, sure,” said Teddy, as I concluded, “this is a 
happy day for me mother’s son, if nothing comes on’t but 
parthing wid — wid — ” 

“ But, Teddy, I had designed taking you along.” 

“And sure, Misther Leighton, isn’t it going I is wid 
yees now ? D’ye think I’d be afther staying behind, like 
a spalpeen, and yees away afther Misther Huntly? pace 


RESOLVE TO SEEK MY FRIEND. 26 r 


to his ashes ! barring that he’s got no ashes at all, at all, 
but is raal flish and blood, like your own bonny silf, 
that’s one of the kindest gintlemen as iver wore out shoe- 
maker’s fixings and made the tailor blush wid modesty 
for the ixcillent fit of his coat !” 

“ But you spoke of parting, Teddy ?” 

“ Ah, troth, and yees a gallant yoursilf, your honor, 
and not sae it was a wee bit of a famale parthing I’s min- 
tioning, jist?” 

“ Female parting ! I do not understand you.” 

Here Teddy scratched his head, and looked not a little 
confused. 

“ Why, ye sae, your honor,” he replied, hesitatingly, 
“ye sae the womens (Heaven bliss their darling sowls !) 
is all lovable crathurs ; and it’s mesilf that likes to maat 
’em wheriver I goes ; but somehow, your honor, a chap’s 
like to be thinking of one, more in particular by raason 
of his nathur ; and that’s the case wid mesilf now and 
Molly Stubbs, that lives yonder, barring that it’s hardly 
living at all that she’s a-doing in this wild counthry.” 

The truth flashed upon me at once. One of the set- 
tlers, who had come here in advance of my friends, had 
a large, buxom, rosy-cheeked daughter of eighteen, who 
went by the euphonious appellation of Molly Stubbs — 
sometimes. Big Molly — and I now’^ remembered having 
seen Teddy idling about the premises, though at the time 
I had no suspicion of the real cause. 

“And so, Teddy, you have been making love, eh?” 

“ Divil a bit, your honor.” 

“ How ? what ?” 

“No! ye sae it was all made to me hand, and I’ve 
ounly been acting it out, jist.” 

“ Aha ! exactly. And so you think you can part 
with your ami.^ eh ?” 

“And sure if it’s Molly Stubbs you maan by that 
Lathin, it’s mesilf that can say the farewell handsome, 
now.” 

“ Well, make your parting short, and then see to 
having the horses got ready, for in less three hours we 
must be in our saddles.” 

With this I turned away ; and with slow steps, and a 


262 


THE SAD FAREWELLS. 


heart by no means the lightest, I sought the residence of 
Lilian, to communicate the unpleasant intelligence that 
in a few minutes we must part, perhaps to meet no more 
in this world. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

THE SAD FAREWELLS. 

S I neared the residence .of Mrs. Hifntly and 
Lilian (which had also been mine for some 
months), for the purpose of bidding my 
friends another long adieu, I heard the merry 
voice and ringing laugh of Eva Mortimer. 

Another time this would have been music to my ears ; 
but now my spirits were greatly depressed, and I was 
not in a mood to appreciate it. 

The cabin — it would scarcely bear a more exalted 
title — seemed surrounded with an air of. gloom. It was 
as good as any, better than most, which formed the vil- 
lage of Oregon City ; but yet what a place to be the 
abode of those who had been used all their lives to the 
luxurious mansions of wealth ! and I could not avoid 
making a comparison between the condition of the ten- 
ants now, and when I had approached to bid them fare- 
well some three years before — nor of thinking with what 
Christian-like resignation they had borne, and still bore, 
their misfortunes. 

Their present little dwelling was built of unhewn 
logs, whose crevices were filled with clay, had a thatched 
roof, puncheon floors, and three apartments. One of 
these had been assigned to Teddy and myself, another to 
Lilian and her mother, and the third answered the treble 
uses of parlor, sitting-room and kitchen. A few beds 
and bedding, a table, one or two chairs, together with a 
few benches, and the most common household utensils*, 
comprised the principal furniture. 




THE SAD FAREWELLS. 


263 


And this was the abode of the lovely and once 
wealthy heiress, Lilian Huntly ! And she could seem 
contented here ! What a happy spirit, to adapt itself to 
all circumstances— to blend itself, if I may so express it, 
with every fortune ! 

With this reflection I crossed the threshold, and be- 
held Lilian and Eva in gay conver'sation, and Mrs. 
Huntly seated by the table, perusing a book. 

Both the young ladies turned to me as I entered, and 
Eva at once exclaimed : 

“So, Mr. Francis, you have just come in time — we 
have it all settled.” 

“ May I inquire what ?” returned I, gravely. 

“ May you inquire what ?” she repeated, with a play- 
ful curl of the lip. “ Did you ever see such a starch, 
ministerial look, Lilian ? — as grave is he as a sexton. Why 
one would suppose all his friends were dead, and he had 
come to invite us to the funeral. Heigh-ho ! if ever I get 
a lover, he shall wear no such look as that ; if he do, it 
will be at the risk of having his hair combed and pow- 
dered, I assure you.” 

“But I have reason for looking grave,” I replied. 

“Eh! what!” cried Eva, changing instantly her 
whole expression and manner. “Surely you have n<>» bad 
news for us .^” and she approached and laid her hand 
upon my arm, with a troubled look ; while Lilian sunk 
down upon a seat, as if she had some sad foreboding, 
and Mrs. Huntly turned her eyes upon me inquir- 
ingly. 

“Give yourselves no alarm,” I hastened to reply. 
“ I have only come to say that we must separate for a 
time.” 

“ Indeed !” exclaimed Eva, looking seriously. 

“You have heard tidings of Charles?” added Mrs. 
Huntly. 

I glanced at Lilian ; but she said not a word, though 
all color had forsaken her features. 

“ No, I have not heard from Charles,” I rejoined, in 
answer to Mrs. Huntly ; “ but I presume I shall ore I re- 
turn.” 


264 


THE SAD FADE WELLS. 


‘ Good Heavens ! then you are going far?” cried Eva, 
in astonishment. 

“ I contemplate making a journey to the East, and 
may meet Charles on the way — in which case I shall 
return at once — otherwise I may be absent all sum- 
mer.” 

“ Why, Francis, what has made you resolve thus so 
suddenly ?” inquired Mrs. Huntly. “ How are we to do 
without you ? I thought — (she paused and glanced toward 
Lilian, who had turned her head aside and seemed deeply 
affected) — that — that — you intended to pass the summer 
with us ?” • 

** Cruel man !” said Eva, in a whisper ; “ how can you 
leave the sweetest being on earth ? Oh, you men !” And 
then she continued aloud: “I wish we were all going 
with you ! Can you not take us all along?” 

“ Why, I fear it would not be safe.” 

As safe as it is here, I am certain. Surely we could 
not be more than killed if we went ; and who knows but 
some of these Indians, that are in the habit of visiting 
our great city here, may take a notion we have lived 
long enough, and so murder us all — or marry us, which 
would be quite as bad ! But whoever knew a gentleman 
gallant enough to do what was asked of him ? Ah ! I 
see — you don’t even listen now ; your thoughts are all 
with somebody else ; and so I will retire. Let me know 
when it is over, as I wish to bid you adieu ; ” and she 
darted out of the room. 

Mrs. Huntly was on the point of interrogating me 
further ; but perceiving, by a sign from Lilian, that the 
latter wished to see me alone, she made some excuse, 
and went into an adjoining apartment. The moment 
she had disappeared, Lilian sprung up and flew into my 
arms. 

“Is this true, Francis?” she exclaimed. “Are )^ou 
really going to leave us ?” 

“ I fear I must for a time,” I said, in a not very firm 
voice. 

“ A long time then,” sighed the fair girl ; “ a long time 
if you are going East. Oh, Francis, I did not think we 
should part so soon I What have you heard ? Some- 


THE SAD FAREWELLS. 265 

thing, surely — for you have never intimated this before — 
and you would not deceive one who loves you ?” 

This was said so touchingly, with such naivete., that 
for a time I only replied by pressing her more closely 
to my heart, and imprinting a kiss upon her quivering 
lips. 

“ I cannot tell my Lilian everything,” I at length made 
ansvrer. “Suffice, that I have important reasons for 
going ; and sometime, God willing, you shall know all. 
My resolution to leave was formed to-day, and to-day we 
must part.” 

“To-day?” she gasped; and I felt her whole form 
quiver like a reed shaken by the wind. “Oh, no! not 
to-day, Francis! That would be too much — too sudden ! 
You must not go to-day !” 

“ Why not, dearest ? I shall return one day the sooner 
for it doubtless ; and it will be as hard to part to-morrow 
as to-day.” 

“ But it is so sudden — so unexpected !” she pleaded. 
“Delay till to-morrow, Francis !” 

“Well, anything to please you,” and I stamped the 
promise with a seal of love. “ Be cheerful as you can in 
my absence, Lilian ; and when I return with your 
brother — ” 

“ Oh, then you are going to find him !” she exclaimed, 
interrupting me. “That return will be joyful indeed! 
Poor Charles ! If you do not meet him on the way, most 
likely you will in Boston. Cheer him all you can, Fran- 
cis ! and tell him we are as happy as circumstances will 
allow us to be.” 

“ Beg pardon, your honor !” said the voice of Teddy 
at the moment, startling Lilian, like a frightened roe, 
from my arms ; “ beg pardon for interrupting yees ! — 
but the baast ye buyed, this while ago, is not inywhere 
to my knowing.” 

“Never mind, Teddy; go and hunt it. It must be 
about, unless the Indians have stolen it ; in which case I 
must get another. Hunt for it — I shall not leave to-day.” 

“Troth, thin. I’ll have another parthing mesilf, jist !” 
returned Teddy, as he disappeared with a pleased look. 

At this moment Mrs. Huntly, hearing another voice. 


12 


266 


THE SAD FAREWELLS, 


reappeared, and my tete-a-tete with Lilian was for the 
time broken oi¥. 

The former had a great many questions to ask me — 
why I had decided leaving so suddenly — when I expected 
to reach Boston, and the like — so that I had no little 
difficulty in replying in a way not to commit myself. 

Then she had letters to write to her friends ; and 
Lilian had letters to prepare also ; and the news of my 
departure having circulated quickly through the village, 
numbers called to see me, to send messages and letters to 
their native land ; so that what with listening to their 
requests, to an extra amount of advice as to the proper 
mode of conducting myself under all circumstances, and 
attending to my own affairs, I was kept busy all day, 
without the opportunity of another private interview 
with Lilian, 

A fine horse, which I had purchased a few days before 
of an Indian, was lost — the late owner I suppose, or some 
of his friends, having thought it best to recover the ani- 
mal without troubling me in the matter at all. Conse- 
quently another beast was to be procured ; and as this 
was for Teddy, I allowed him to make his own selection 
— the one I had ridden hither still being in my posses- 
sion. 

At last, everything being prepared, I retired to my 
couch, heartily fatigued with my day’s work. 

But thought was too busy to allow me much sleep ; 
and I question if at least one other did not pass a restless 
night from the same cause ; for, on appearing in the 
morning, I noticed that the features of Lilian were very 
pale, and her eyes red as if from recent weeping. 

But she seemed firm, ready to endure the separation, 
and uttered not a single word of complaint. 

I could have loved her for this, if for nothing else — 
her conduct was so womanly and sensible. 

She did not feel the less, that she did not show it 
more, I knew. She was about to part with one she had 
loved from childhood — one to w-hom her heart and hand 
were pledged — and this in a strange, wild country, for a 
long separation, full of peril to both, with no certainty 
of ever seeing him again. It could not but be painful to 


THE SAD FAREWELLS. 


267 


her in any situation — doubly so in the one she was 
placed — and I fancy I appreciated her noble firmness as 
it deserved. 

The countenances of Mrs. Huntly, Madame Morti- 
mer, Eva, and many others, all were grave ; and I read in 
their looks unfeigned sorrow at my close-coming de- 
parture. 

The morning meal was eaten in silence, as all were 
too sad and full of deep thought for unnecessary conver- 
sation. Ere it was finished, my friends had all collected 
to bid me farewell and God speed ; and the announce- 
ment by Teddy, that the horses were ready, was the sig- 
nal for me to begin the parting scene. 

Commencing with those I cared least about, I shook 
each heartily by the hand, and passed from one to the 
other as rapidly as possible. 

“Francis Leighton,” said Madame Mortimer, when I 
came to her, and her hand pressed mine warmly, and her 

! * voice trembled as she spoke, “ remember that to you and 
your friend my daughter owes her life, and I a debt of 
gratitude that may never be canceled. If my prayers for 
your safe and happy return be of any avail, you have 
them. God bless you, sir ! and remember, that, what- 
ever may happen in this changing world, in me, w’hile 
living, you have a warm friend ; and (approaching and 
whispering in my ear), so has Lilian and her mother. 
While 1 have aught, they shall never want. Farewell, 
- my friend — farewell ; but, 1 hope, only for a time.” 

Madame Mortimer stepped aside, and 1 turned to Eva. 
There was no merriment in her look now — nothing light 
upon her tongue. 

“You have heard the words of mother,” she said, 
impressively. “ They are not meaningless. To you and 
your friend ! am indebted for my life. My conversation 
at times may have seemed light and trifling; but not- 
withstanding, Francis, I would have you believe there is 
a heart beneath all, that does not overlook the merits of 
its friends, nor feel lightly tor their welfare. When you 
see your friend, teil him that he is prayed for daily, by 
one who, though she never saw him, can never cease to 
remember him. Adieu ! and may God bear you safely 


268 


THE SAD FAREWELLS. 


through all peril !” and she turned away, as if to hide a 
tear. 

“ Francis,” said Mrs. Huntly, striving to command 
her voice, which trembled not a little, as she held both 
my hands in hers : “ Francis, it is hard — very, very hard 
— to part with you. But I suppose I must, and I hope it 
is all for the best. I have had so much trouble within a 
few years — have seen so many of those I once supposed 
my friends forsake me — that it really becomes grievous 
to part with any of the few I have tried and not found 
wanting. But go, Francis, and God protect you ! 
Should you be fortunate enough to meet with dear 
Charles — (here her voice faltered to a pause, and she was 
forced to dash away the tears dimming her eyes) — tell — 
tell him all. Break the matter gently, if he does not 
already know it — and — and comfort him the best way you 
can. My love — my deepest, undying love — to your 
parents and all my friends. There — there — I can say no 
more — no more. Go, Francis, and God’s blessing and 
mine attend you ! Good-bye ! farewell !”and, shaking 
my hands warmly, with her head averted, she dropped 
them and disappeared into another apartment, seem- 
ingly too much affected to tarry longer in my pres- 
ence. 

With a proper delicacy, for which I gave them ample 
credit, one after another departed, until I was left alone 
with Lilian. 

While these several partings were taking place, she 
had remained seated, watching the whole proceedings, 
with what feelings I leave lovers to judge. 

I now turned to her, and felt that the grand trial 
was at hand, and my heart seemed to be in my very 
throat. 

Her sweet countenance was pale and death-like, her 
very lips were white, and her eyes full of tears. There 
was no shyness, no trembling, no apparent excitement. 
She seemed, as her heavenly blue eyes f^xed themselves 
upon mine, rather a beautiful figure, cut from the purest 
marble, cold and motionless, than a living, breathing, 
human being. But, oh ! what thoughts, what agonies. 


THE SAD FAREWELLS. 269 

were rendino^ that soul within ! mastered only by a most 
powerful will ! 

With a step none of the firmest, I approached and took 
a seat by her side, and laid my hand upon hers. 

“Lilian," I said, in a scarcely articulate voice; 
“ Lilian, the time has come to — to — part.” 

She did not reply in words — she could not ; but she 
rose to her feet, her ivory arms encircled my neck, and 
her feelings found vent in tears upon my heaving breast. 

Smile, if you will, reader — you who have passed the 
romantic bounds of a first pure and holy passion, and be- 
come identified with the cares and dross of a money- 
getting, matter-of-fact, dollar-and-cent-life — smile if you 
will, as your eye chances upon this simple passage ; and 
curl your lip in proud disdain of what you now consider 
foolish days of love-sick sentimentality ; but remember, 
withal, that, in your long career of painful experience, 
you can refer to no period when you felt more happi- 
ness, more unadulterated joy, than that when the being 
of your first ambition and love lay trustingly in your 
arms. It is a point in the life of each and all who have 
experienced it (and to none other are these words ad- 
dressed), which^can never be erased from the tablet of 
memory ; and t'tiough in after years we may affect to 
deride it as the weakness of youth, it will come upon us 
in our reflective moments, like a warm sunshine sud- 
denly bursting upon a late cold and gloomy landscape ; 
and insensibly, as it were, our spirits will be borne away, 
to live over again, though briefly, the happiest moments 
of our existence. The man who has passed the prime 
and vigor of manhood without ever having felt this — 
withoul this to look back to — I pity ; for he has missed 
the purest enjoyment offered to mortal ; and his whole 
path of life must have been through a sterile desert, 
without one green blade or flower to relieve its barren 
waste. 

For some moments the heart of Lilian beat rapidly 
against mine, and her tears flowed hot and fast. I did 
not attempt to restrain the latter, for I knew they would 
bring relief to an overcharged soul, and I rejoiced that 


270 


OUR PERILS BEGIN. 


she could weep. At length they ceased, and Lilian 
spoke. 

“I will not detain you longer, dear Francis! For 
you and I, who know each other so well, words are idle 
and unmeaning, or at least unexpressive of our feelings. 
Avoid danger for your own sake, and for the sake of her 
who loves you ; and do not forget that she will count the 
days, the hours, ay, the 7ninutes., of your absence.” 

“I will not, dearest Lilian!” I exclaimed, straining 
her to my breast, and pressing my lips again and again 
to hers. “I will not forget there lives an angel to make 
happy my return ; and God send my return may make 
her happy also ! Adieu, dearest — take heart — do not de- 
spond — and Heaven grant our meeting may be soon ! 
There, God bless you ! and holy angels guard you !” and, 
taking a farewell salute, I gently seated her as before, 
and rushed from the cottage. 

Two fiery horses stood saddled and bridled at the 
door, pawing the earth impatiently ; and snatching the 
bridle of one from the hand of Teddy, I vaulted into the 
saddle. 

The next minute I was dashing away at a dangerous 
speed, but one that could scarcely keep pace with my 
thoughts. 


CHAPTER XXXHI. 


OUK PERILS BEGIN. 


ITH the mind completely engrossed, the body 
often acts mechanically, or by instinct, and 
performs, without our knowledge at the 
time, exactly what reason would" have dic- 
tated ; and when some trifling circumstance 
recalls us to ourselves, we arouse as from a dream, and 
are surprised at what has been accomplished during our 
brief alienation. 



OUR PERILS BEGIN. 


271 


So was it with myself in the present instance. 

On, on I sped, as if riding for life, my hand firmly 
upon the rein, guiding unerringly my high-mettled beast, 
and yet unconscious of anything external, with thoughts 
wild and painful rushing through my brain. 

How long or far I had ridden thus, I do not exactly 
know, though miles now lay between me and Oregon 
City ; nor how much longer I should have continued at 
the same break-neck speed, had my horse not stumbled, 
and thus broken the monotony of a steady ride by un- 
seating and nearly throwing me over his head. 

Recovering my position, and reining my beast to a 
halt, I found him covered with foam, and very much 
blown from his late run ; and that I was upon a narrow 
upland prairie, which stretched away before me for 
several miles, fringed on either hand, at no great distance, 
with a beautiful wood. 

“ Where am I ?” was my first involuntary exclama- 
tion ; “ how did I get here with a whole neck ? and where 
is Teddy?” 

The last question found a more ready answer than 
either of the preceding, in a shout from the veritable 
Teddy O’Lagherty himself. 

I looked behind and beheld him coming as if on a 
race with death for the last half hour of his existence. 
His appearance was not a little ludicrous. His body 
was bent forward at an angle of forty-five degrees, so as 
to allow him to grasp the- mane of the beast — his only 
hope — his feet having slipped from the stirrups, which 
were dangling against the animal’s flanks, and serving 
the purpose of spurs — while his hat, for security being 
held in his teeth, smothered the shouts he was making 
to attract my attention. Add to this, that the horse 
had no guide but his own will, that at every spring 
Teddy bounced from the saddle to the imminent danger 
of his neck, and greatly to the aid of his digestive organs, 
and an idea of the discomfiture of the poor fellow may 
be formed, as his horse dashed up alongside of mine and 
came to a dead halt. 

It is said there is but one short step from the sublime 
to the ridiculous, and I certainly felt the force of the 


OUR PERILS BEGIN. 


272 


proverb on the present occasion. I had been half mad 
with distracting thoughts ; but everything was now for- 
gotten ; and I burst forth in a roar of laughter, such as 
I am certain had never startled those solitudes before. 

“Be the howly Moses!” cried Teddy, regaining an 
upright position, with a face the hue of a boiled lobster ; 
“ is ye mad now, ye divil ? — beg pardon ! — your honor, I 
maan. Jabers ! what a ride ! Och ! I’m done for — 
claan murthered intirely — all pumice from me toes up- 
ward, barring me body and head-piece, jist.” 

“ Why, Teddy,” returned I, as soon as I could get 
calm enough to command my voice, “ what new feature 
of horsemanship is this you have adopted? I am sure 
you would make your fortune in any circus, with such a 
heroic display of your animal capacities.” 

“ Agh ! ye may laugh and be d — plased to yees ; but it’s 
me mother’s own son as feels more like crying, so it is ! 
Fortune, is it, ye mintioned? Be howly St. Christopher ! 
it’s not mesilf that ud do the likes agin for twinty for- 
tunes. Och ! I’m killed intirely — all barring the braath- 
ing, that lingers still.” 

“Well, well, Teddy, I trust you will not have to 
repeat it,” pursued I, laughing still. “But, come — where 
do you think we are ?” 

“Think, is it? Ye ax me to think? Sure, divil of a 
think I’ve got in me now I I lift it all on the road, that 
was no road at all, but the worst traveled counthry I iver 
put eyes on. We may be among the Hindoo haythen, for 
all me knows conthrawise ; for not a blissed thing did I 
sae on the journey, but r-rocks, traas and stumps, and the 
divil knows what all, and thim a-going so fast I couldn’t 
git time to say good-bye to ’em.” 

To the best of rny judgment, we had come about five 
miles, in a direction due east. 

Far in the distance before me, I now beheld the lofty, 
snow-crowned peak of Mount Hood ; and toward this, 
without further delay, we bent our steps, at a pace 
strongly contrasting with the speed which had borne us 
hither. 

“Why did you not call to me, when you saw me 
riding at a rate so fearful ?” I inquired. 


OUR PERILS BEGIN. 


273 


‘‘Call, is it?” replied Teddy. “Faith! jist ax me 
lungs if I didn’t call, till me breath quit coming for the 
strain upon ’em.” 

“ And so you couldn’t make me hear, eh ?” 

“ Make the dead hear ! Och ! I might as well av 
called to a graveyard, barring the looks of the thing. 
Was yees mad, your honor ?” 

“ Oh, no, Teddy — only a little excited at parting with 
my friends.” 

“ Agh ! thim same parthings is mighty har-r-d, now, 
so they is !” rejoined Teddy, with a sigh. 

“ So you can speak from experience, eh ?” 

“ Be me troth, can I, now ; and so can Molly Stubbs 
— the swaat crathur that she is.” 

“ Did it break her heart, Teddy ?” 

“ It’s not asy for me to say, your honor ; but it broke 
her gridiron, and the ounly one she had at that, poor 
dear !” 

“ Her gridiron ?” I exclaimed, struggling to repress 
my risible faculties and keep a grave face, for I saw 
Teddy was in sober earnest, and totally unaware that there 
was anything ludicrous in his remark. “ How did it 
affect the gridiron, Teddy ?” 

“ Why, ye sae now, she was jist holding it betwaan 
her two fingers, and fixing for a fry maybe, whin up I 
comes, and tapping her under the chin, by raason of our 
ould acquaintance, I sez : 

“ ‘ It’s a blissed day I saw ye first, me darling.’ 

“‘That it was, Misther Teddy,’ sez she. 

“ ‘ I wish that first maating could last foriver,’ sez I. 

“ ‘ And so do I,’ sez she. 

“‘But it won’t,’ sez I; and thin I sighed, and she 
axed me what was the mather. 

“ ‘ Oh, worra ! worra !’ I sez ; ‘ it’s about to part we 

is, Molly, dear.’ 

“ ‘ Ye don’t say the likes 1’ sez she ; and thin down 
come the gridiron, as if the Ould Scratch was a riding 

it, smash upon the stone harth, and into me arms pitched 
Molly, wid a flood of tears that made me look wathery 
for a long occasion. Now it’s not what we did afther- 
wards I’m going to till, at all, at all ; but whin we both 

12* 


274 


OUR PERILS BEGIN. 


come sensible, our eyes besavvthe gridiron all broke, and 
not wort a ha’pence. Molly cried, she did, and I gin her 
a month’s wages to ase her conscience. Musha, now, 
but parthings is har-r-d, so they is.” 

In this and like manner I managed to relieve my 
mind of many gloomy thoughts, which otherwise must 
have painfully depressed it. 

I had parted the second time with Lilian, for a 
journey equally as full of peril as the first, and, if any- 
thing, of a more indefinite character. 

I was going in search of my lost friend, it is true ; 
but what little chance had I, I thought, when I came to 
look at it soberly, of finding him, even if alive. I might 
travel thousands on thousands of miles — be months, even 
years, on the search — and yet be no nearer revealing his 
locality than when I set out. If living, it was a mere 
chance if we should ever meet again, and nothing perhaps 
but a kind Providence could bring us together. 

As may be inferred, when I quitted my friends in 
Oregon City I had no definite plan arranged ; and now 
that I was really on the journey, the question naturally 
arose as to what I should do, how first to proceed, and 
where to begin. I had resolved on engaging assistance, 
but where was this to be found ? 

For some time I puzzled my own brain with the matter, 
and then referred it to Teddy. 

Though brought up in an humble sphere of life, with 
very little education, Teddy was nevertheless a keen, 
shrewd observer, and of excellent judgment in matters 
coming within the range of his intellect and experience ; 
and accordingly I relied much upon his advice. 

Having heard the case fully stated, with the gravity 
of a judge, and asked several pertinent questions, he 
replied, that our best course, in his humble opinion, was 
to continue our present route as far as Fort Hall, where 
we would be likely to augment our number to our satis- 
faction, and could then proceed in a southerly direction 
and be guided by succeeding events. 

As this tallied exactly with my own views, the plan 
was quickly adopted, and I rode forward with the great 


OUR PERILS BEGIN, 


275 


mental relief that I now had a fixed purpose, whether 
right or wrong. 

For several miles our course lay over the upland 
prairie I have mentioned ; then the ground changed and 
became more rolling ; and this in'turn gave place to hills, 
sometimes sparsely and sometimes densely wooded, in- 
terspersed with rocks, gullies and deep ravines, that 
greatly impeded our progress. 

We halted to noon in a little valley, through which, 
with a roaring sound over its rocky bed, dashed a bright 
stream of pure water, on whose banks grew rich, green 
grass, of such luxuriance as to satisfy the appetites of our 
animals in a very short time. 

While partaking of some plain food, of which we had 
a small store, we amused ourselves by overhauling our 
rifles, examining their priming, as well as our other 
weapons and ammunition, and seeing that everything 
was in a proper condition to meet danger. 

Scarcely was this over, when in a whisper Teddy 
called my attention to a fine, fat buck, which was trotting 
along within rifle shot. 

Quick as thought I drew up my piece and fired. 

The animal instantly bounded forward a short dis- 
tance, reeled, and fell upon its side. 

The next moment we were on our way to examine 
the carcass, and take from it the most suitable portions 
for our wants. 

We had scarcely proceeded twenty paces, when 
Teddy, grasping my arm, exclaimed : 

“ Injins, be jabers !” 

And sure enough, just issuing from a clump of 
bushes, on the opposite side of the valley, distant less 
than two hundred yards, were six half-naked savages, 
armed, two of them, with rifles or muskets, and the 
others with bows and arrows. 

As it was impossible to divine their intentions, only 
by their acts, and as they made straight toward us, 
I snatched Teddy’s rifle from his hands, and, ordering 
him to load mine as quick as possible, raised it to my 
shoulder, determined, should they prove hostile, to sell 


276 


OUR PERILS BEGIN, 


my life dearly, and die, if I must, with the satisfaction of 
having done my duty in self-defense. 

Perceiving my movement, they came to a halt, and 
made me friendly signs, by extending their open hands 
and then placing them on their hearts. 

Dropping the muzzle of my rifle, I did the same, and 
then waited for them to come up — though, it must be 
confessed, with not the most faith imaginable in their 
amicable professions. 

However, I kept well on my guard ; and by the time 
they had shortened the first-mentioned distance between 
us by a hundred paces, Teddy coolly announced that two 
bullets were at their service at any moment they might 
choose. 

As they approached us, I made them out, by their 
costume and paint, to belong to the Chinnook tribe, 
whose grounds lie due north of Oregon City, on the 
opposite side of the Columbia River. I had frequently 
seen more or less of them in the village ; and had, in 
fact, purchased the horse, mentioned as being stolen, 
from one of their tribe ; so that I now feared less a de- 
sign upon my life than upon my property. 

The party in question were all inferior beings, both 
in size and appearance ; but one seemed superior to the 
others, and possessed of command. 

He approached me in advance of his companions, and 
held out his hand, which I accepted and shook in a 
friendly manner. 

He next proceeded to Teddy, and each in turn fol- 
lowed his example. 

When all had done, the chief addressed me in broken 
English : 

“ Where you come ?” 

“From the village, yonder,” I replied, pointing with 
my finger toward Oregon City. 

“ Where go ?” 

“ Away beyond the mountains,” and I pointed east- 
ward. 

“Good muskee (musket) got?” 

I nodded in the affirmative. 

“ Good boss got ?” 


OUR PERILS BEGIN. 


277 


I nodded again. 

“Good present got, eh? poor Injin, eh?” 

“ I have nothing but some tobacco I can spare,” I an- 
swered — of which I still had a pretty good supply. 

“ Ugh ! backee good !” rejoined the chief, with a 
smile. 

This was in my sack on my horse, and I was not sorry 
of an excuse to get to him without showing myself 
suspicious of my new acquaintances ; for I had noticed 
many a wistful glance cast in that direction ; and I feared 
lest, presuming on our weakness, they might think 
proper to take our animals and leave us to make the best 
of it. 

Accordingly I informed the savage where the article 
was, and that I must go alone and get it. 

“ Why me no go ?” he asked. 

“Then your followers must stay behind.” 

“Why dey no go ?” he inquired, a little angrily as I 
thought. 

“ Because I shall not permit it !” I replied, decisively. 

“ Ugh ! we so — you so !” he rejoined, holding up first 
six, and then two fingers, to indicate the number of each 
party. “We strong — you weak — we go, eh?” and he 
made a step forward. 

In an instant the muzzle of my rifle was pointed at 
his breast, and my finger on the trigger ; a movement 
imitated by Teddy, who quickly covered another. 

“Another step, chief,” I said, “and you are a dead 
man !” 

“ Back, ye divils — ye dirthy blaggards ! — don’t yees 
hear the gintleman spaking to yees now?” shouted 
Teddy. 

This peremptory decision had a salutary effect upon 
the white-livered knaves, who instantly shrunk cowering 
back — the chief at once exclaiming, in a deprecating 
tone : _ 

“No shoot. We no go. You go.” 

Fearing treachery, we instantly started for our 
horses, keeping our faces to our foes, and our rifles 
leveled, prepared for the worst. 

Having secured a few plugs of tobacco, we both 


278 


OUR PERILS BEGIN. 


mounted and returned to the savages, among whom I 
made an immediate distribution. 

The chief thanked me, and said they would now go 
home. 

Accordingly, the whole party set off in one direction, 
and we in another, rifles in hand. 

We had scarcely gone twenty paces, when crack 
went a musket behind us, and a ball whizzed over my 
head. 

“ The treacherous scoundrels !” I exclaimed ; and 
wheeling my horse as I spoke, I beheld the whole six 
running and dodging for their lives. 

Singling out the villain that had fired at us, I drew up 
my rifle and pulled trigger. 

The next moment he lay howling in the dust, deserted 
by his cowardly friends, whose speed seemed greatly ac- 
celerated by this event. 

Teddy would have gone back for his scalp ; but this 
I would not permit, both on account of its barbarity, 
and because by delay we might encounter another 
party. 

Setting spurs to our horses, therefore, we dashed 
rapidly away, leaving our game and foes behind us, and 
congratulating ourselves upon our providential escape. 

For the rest of the day our progress was by no means 
slow, though the traveling at times was most execrable. 

The sun was already throwing a long shade to the 
eastward, when, ascending a rough, stony ridge, which we 
had been forced to do bircuitously, we beheld below us a 
beautiful pla’n, of miles in length and breadth, along the 
eastern portion of which towered the lofty Cascade 
Mountains, with the everlasting snow-crowned Mount 
Hood rising grandly above all, till lost beyond the 
clouds, glittering like a pinnacle of burnished silver in 
the rays of the sinking sun. It was a sublime and beauti- 
ful scene for the painter and poet, and for many minutes 
I paused and gazed upon it with feelings of reverence 
and awe for the great Author of a work so stupendous. 

Descending to the base of the hill, we found a suit- 
able place and encamped. Though greatly fatigued, I 
did not rest well ; and either my thoughts, or the dismal 


A FRENCH AND IRISH Q DARREL. 279 


bowlings of surrounding wolves, or both, combined with 
other circumstances, kept me awake the most of the 
night. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

A FRENCH AND IRISH QUARREL. 


ARTY the following morning we were on our 
feet ; and, having partaken of a slight repast, 
we mounted and set off toward Mount Hood. 

The traveling was now good, being over a 
rolling prairie, which, as we neared this co- 
lossal erection of nature, gradually became more and 
more level, so that, our horses being refreshed and full 
of fire, our speed was all that could be desired even by 
the most impatient. 

Before noon we reached the base of Mount Hood; 
and if I had thought it sublime at a distance, I now />//, 
as.it were, its sublimity in an awful degree. Up, up, up 
it rose, until my eyes became strained to trace its glisten- 
ing outline in the clear, blue ether. Its base was sur- 
rounded with sand, dead trees and broken rocks, which 
had accumulated there, perhaps, by the torrents of ages, 
as they had rushed and roared down its jagged sides. 
For a considerable distance above the plain it was well 
timbered ; then came a long stretch of green grass ; then 
a long barren spot ; and then commenced the snow and 
ice, which rose far beyond the ordinary height of the 
clouds ; the whole combined, forming a spectacle of 
which the pen can convey no adequate idea. To the 
right and left stretched away the Cascades, which, stu- 
pendous themselves, seemed as molehills in compare 
with Mount Hood. Far to the south rose the lofty peak 
of Mount Jefferson ; and as far to the north, on the other 
side of the Columbia, that of Mount St. Helens. 

Having gazed upon the scene to my satisfaction, I 



28 o a french and IRISH Q DARREL. 


turned my horse to the right, and began my ascent up a 
valley, formed by the partial meeting of two hills, and 
down the very bed of which roared a sparkling streamlet. 

The further I ascended, the more wild became the 
scene, the more precipitous and dangerous the path. In 
fact, on three occasions, we were obliged to dismount 
and lead our horses for a considerable distance, and once 
our steps had to be retraced for half a mile, in order to 
pass around a frightful chasm. Near the summit of the 
ridge we came upon a fine spring and an abundance of 
grass. Here we encamped for the night, during which 
I slept soundly. 

The following day was cold and stormy, with sleet 
and snow. 

This may surprise the reader who bears in mind that 
it was now June ; but snow-storms on the mountains 
are not regulated altogether by the seasons, and are fre- 
quently known to occur in one part of the country, 
while in another, not ten miles distant, the heat may be 
excessive. 

As all are aware, the higher we ascend, the colder the 
atmosphere ; and on many high mountains, in southern 
climes, there may be all kinds of temperatures, from the 
torrid to the frigid — from the valley of dates, figs and 
oranges, to the peaks of never-melting ice and snow — 
and this within the d^istance of five or ten miles. 

Ere we raised our camp, I shot a mountain goat, 
being the first game we had killed since the buck of un- 
favorable memory. 

Of this we prepared our breakfast, and also put a few 
choice pieces in our “ possibles,” leaving the balance to 
the wolves; which, in justice to the appreciation they 
showed thereof, I may say was nothing but a pile of 
shining bones ere we were fairly out of sight. 

I now consulted an excellent map, which I had pro- 
cured from one of the emigrarits, and, referring to my 
compass, laid my course a little north of east, so as to 
strike the Dalles of Columbia, and thus the most traveled 
route to and from Oregon City. 

The day, as I have said, being stormy, and our route 


A FRENCH AND IRISH QUARREL. 2S1 


lying over a wild, bleak country, served not a little to 
depress the spirits of both Teddy and myself. 

Nothing of consequence occurred through the day to 
distract our thoughts from their gloomy channel, and 
but little was said by either. 

By riding hard, we gained the Dalles that night, and 
encamped on the banks of the Columbia. 

Eager to arrive at Fort Hall, we again pushed for- 
ward on the succeeding day, and, following up the 
Columbia, reached Fort Walla Walla on the third from 
our quitting the Dalles, without any events worthy of 
particular note. 

This fortress, constructed on the plan of Fort Lara- 
mie, described in a former chapter, I shall pass without 
notice, other than to say that it contained a small garri- 
son of resolute and daring adventurers, or rather moun- 
taineers and their squaw wives, who preferred passing 
their lives here in comparative ease, at good wages, to 
privations and perils of trapping in the wilderness. 

Here I found a number of hardy fellows, who had 
lately “come in,” and who were preparing to set off 
again for the Blue Mountains — some to hunt for game 
in the forests, and others to trap in the streams. 

Here were also several friendly Indians (friendly 
through fear of the whites), the usual number of traders, 
peddlers, one or two land speculators and fur company 
agents, and one French iwyageur — all more or less en- 
gaged in drinking, trafficking and gambling, the usual 
routine of a gathering of this kind. 

Thinking it possible to raise a party here, I made a 
proposition to several, but found all had prior engage- 
ments. 

I next made some inquiries concerning Black George ; 
and learned, much to my satisfaction, that he had been 
seen quite recently on the Blue Mountains ; and that in 
all probability I should find him at Fort Bois, or Fort 
Hall, as he was then slowly taking his way eastward. 

“If you desire an excellent guide,” said an agent to 
me, “let me recommend to you Pierre Bureaux ; who, 
though somewhat eccentric at times, you will find most 


282 A FRENCH AND IRISH QUARREL. 


faithful in the discharge of his duty. I have tried him, 
sir, and know.” 

“ Just what I desire,” I replied. 

‘‘Come, then,” he said; and taking me aside, he 
presented me to the individual in question, who was 
none other than the French voyageur previously men- 
tioned. 

He was a small, dapper personage, very neat in his 
appearance, with a keen, restless black eye, and a physi- 
ognomy more inclined to merriment than melancholy. 
His age was about forty, though he ever took pains to 
appear much younger. His penchant was for the wild 
and daring, and never was he so well contented as when 
engaged in some perilous enterprise. This, taken in con- 
nection with his jovial turn of mind, may at first seem 
paradoxical ; but it must be remembered, that most per- 
sons incline less to their likes than their opposites ; and 
that the humorist is the man who seldom smiles, while 
the man of gravest sayings may be literally a 
laughing philosopher. He was much addicted, too, to 
taking snuff, of which he always managed to have a 
good stock on hand, so that his silver box and handker- 
chief were in requisition on almost all occasions. <He 
spoke with great volubility, in broken English, generally 
interlarded with French, accompanied with all the 
peculiar shrugs and gesticulations of his countrymen. 
He was, in short, a serio-comical, singular being, of 
whom I can convey no better idea than to let him speak 
and act for himself. 

‘‘ Ah, Monsieur,” he said, in reply to my salutation, 
taking a huge pinch of snuff the while and bowing very 
politely; “ ver moche happee make you acquaintones. Vill 
you ’ave von — vot you call him — happenese, eh? — to take 
von leettle— I forgot him — so — (putting his thumb and 
finger together, to indicate a pinch) — avec moi, eh ?” 

“ Thank you,” I returned, “ I never use the article in 
that shape.” 

“Ver sorre hear him. Vous remembare le grand 
Empereur Napoleone, eh?” 

“ Ay.” 

“Ah! von plus great sheneral him. He take snoof, 


A FRENCH AND IRISH QUARREL. 283 


eh ? Veil, you speak now — you — you — vot you call him 
— bussiness, eh ?” 

“ I wish to engage you,” I replied, “ to go on a journey 
full of peril in the capacity of a guide.” 

“ Ou allez-vous ? ” 

“How ?” 

“ Ah, pardonnez-moi ! I say, vere you go ?” 

“ To Mexico, perhaps.” 

“ Oui, Monsieur — I shall be vere moche delight — I 
certainment assure you. Ven you go, eh ?” 

“I leave here, en route for Fort Hall, at daylight to- 
morrow.” 

Here the Frenchman took one or two hasty pinches 
of his favorite, and, closing his box, said : 

“ Von leetle absence. Monsieur ; I sail 'ave von ver 
moche pleasure ;” and off he skipped, as gay as a lark, to 
prepare himself for the journey. 

At daylight on the succeeding morning the French- 
man was at his post, well mounted on a full-blooded 
Indian pony, armed to the teeth, and really looking quite 
the warrior. 

Three minutes later we had all passed the gate and 
were speeding away. 

This was the first meeting between Teddy and 
Pierre ; and I soon became aware it was anything but a 
pleasant one, particularly on the part of Teddy, who 
cast many a furtive glance upon the other, expressive of 
dislike. 

What this arose from — whether from jealousy, national 
prejudice, or contempt for the inferior proportions of 
Pierre — I was at a loss to determine. Never before 
had I seen animosity to a fellow-traveler so strongly de- 
picted on the features of the faithful Teddy. It might 
be he fancied the Frenchman of equal grade with him- 
self, and was jealous of his supplanting him in my favor, 
and this seemed the most probable of the three suggested 
causes. 

Pierre, however, showed no ill-will to the Irishman, 
but merely returned his glances with a supercilious look, 
as though he considered him his inferior. 

But he could not long remain silent ; and so, after 


284 A FRENCH AND IRISH QUARREL, 


riding on briskly fora short distance, he turned to Teddy, 
and with a mischievous twinkle in his small, black eye, 
said, with much suavity : 

“ Parlez vous Frangais?” 

“Spake it in Inglish, ye spalpeen ! and thin a gintle- 
man can answer yees!” replied Teddy, reddening with 
vexation. “ If it’s frog language ye’s jabbering, sure 
it’s not mesilf as wants to know what ye says, now.” 

“ Que voulez-vous. Monsieur?” inquired the French- 
man, booking slyly at me, with a significant shrug, and 
secretly enjoying the discomfiture of Teddy. 

“ Quack, quack, quack, kither hoben !” rejoined Teddy, 
fiercely. “ Sure, now, and is it that ye can understand 
yoursilf, ye thafe? It’s maybe smart, now, ye’s afther 
thinking yoursilf, by token" ye can say things I don’t 
know the manning of. And so ye is smart, barring the 
foolish part, which comprehinds the whole of yees. 
Troth! can ye fight, Misther Frog-ater? Come, now, 
that’s Inglish ; and, by St. Pathrick’s bones. I’ll wager 
ye’re too much of a coward to know the manning on’t !” 

“ Come, come, Teddy,” I said, “you are getting per- 
sonal. I can allow no quarreling.” 

“Och! there’s no danger, your honor!” returned 
Teddy, turning upon Pierre a withering look of con- 
tempt. “It’s not iny frog-ater as is going to fight his 
bethers, and sure it’s not Teddy O’Lagherty as can fight 
alone, jist.” 

Meantime there had been a quiet, half smile resting on 
the features of the Frenchman, as though he was secretly 
enjoying a fine joke. Even the abusive language of the 
excited Irishman did not appear to disturb his equanim- 
ity in the least. There he sat, as cool and apparently as 
indifferent as if nothing derogatory to liis fighting pro- 
pensities had been uttered, or at least understood by him. 

I was beginning in fact to think the latter was the 
case, or else that Teddy was more than half right in call- 
ing him a coward, when 1 became struck with a peculiar 
expression, which suddenly swept over his bronzed feat- 
ures, and was superseded by the same quiet smile — as We 
sometimes at noon-day see a cloud flit over a bright land- 
scape, shading it for an instant only. 


A FRENCH AND IRISH QUARREL. 285 


Suddenly Pierre reined his pony close alongside of 
Teddy, and, in a very bland voice, as if begging a favor, 
said : 

“ Monsieur, you say someting ’bout fight, eh? Sare, 
I sail ’ave le plus grande delight to soot you with un — 
vot you call him — peestole, eh ?” 

“The divil ye will, now ?” replied Teddy, with a com- 
ical look of surprise. “Sure, thin, an’ it’s mesilf that ud 
like to be doing the same to yoursilf, and ye was worth 
the powther it ud cost.” 

“Sare,” returned the Frenchman, with dignity, “in 
my coontree, ven gentilshommes go for kill, dey nevare 
count ze cost. I soot you — I cut you troat — I sharge you 
notings.” 

“Well, be jabers ! since ye’ve got your foul tongue 
into Inglish, and be blamed to yees. I’ll do the same for 
your dirthy silf !” retorted Teddy; “for it’s not Teddy 
O’Lagherty as ’ll be behind aven a aager in liberalithies 
of that sort, now.” 

“ You are both too liberal of your valor by half,” I 
rejoined, laughing at what I thought would merely end 
in words. 

But I was soon convinced of my error ; for scarcely 
had the expression left my lips, when the Frenchman 
sprung from his pony, and, striking his hand on his 
pistols, exclaimed : 

“Je I’attaquerai : I will ’ave at you. Monsieur, ven 
you do me von leetle honoor, sare !” 

“ It’s not long you’ll have to wait thin !” cried Teddy ; 
and before I could interfere — or in fact was fully aware 
of what was taking place — he had dismounted and drawn 
a pistol. “Tin paces, ye blaggard !” he cried ; “and may 
the saints be marciful to yees !” 

“ Hold !” I shouted. “ Rash men, what are you about ? 
I forbid—” 

Here I was interrupted by the reports of two pistols, 
followed by a stifled cry of pain from Pierre, who in- 
stantly dropped his weapon and placed his hand to his 
shoulder. 

The next moment I was on my feet, and rushing to 
his assistance, accompanied by Teddy, whose features, 


286 A FRENCH AND IRISH Q DARREL, 


instead of anger, now exhibited a look of commisera- 
tion. 

“Are you hurt, Pierre?” I inquired, as I gained his 
side. 

“ Ver leetle scratch,” replied the Frenchman, taking 
away his hand covered with blood. 

I instantly tore away his garments, and ascertained 
that the ball of Teddy had passed quite through the fleshy 
part of his arm near the shoulder, but without breaking a 
bone or severing an artery. 

“ A lucky escape, Pierre !” I said. 

He merely shrugged his shoulders, and coolly pro- 
ceeded to take snuff, with an indifference that surprised 
me. 

When he had done, he turned to Teddy, with : 

“ Vill you ’ave von more — vot you call him — le plus 
grand satisfactoine, eh ?” 

“ Sure, and it’s mesilf as is not over-parthicular, iny 
ways. If ye’s satisfied. I’m con tint — or conthrariwise, as 
plases ye most.” 

“Veil, den, suppose we shake hafid, eh?” rejoined 
Pierre. “ I soot you — you soot me : ve ’ave both satis- 
factione, eh ?” and the next moment these two singular 
beings were pleasantly engaged in complimenting each 
other on his bravery. 

Oh, curious human nature ! From that moment 
Pierre Boreaux and Teddy O’Lagherty were sworn 
friends for life — nor did I ever hear an angry word pass 
between them afterward. 


A DISMAL NIGHT. 


287 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

A GOOD JOKE AND A DISMAL NIGHT. 


URSUING our course along the banks of the 
Walla-Walla, we passed Dr. Whitman’s Sta- 
tion, and camped the following night in a 
romantic dell at the foot of a ridge adjoining 
the Grand Round. 

In the course of the evening we were visited by sev- 
eral Indians, with whom we held a small traffic for pro- 
visions. For fear of evil consequences, we kept well on 
our guard, but they displayed no hostile intentions. 

Pierre complained somewhat of his arm, which I had 
bandaged at the time as well as circumstances would per- 
mit. I advised him to consult the Indians, who are 
known to be great proficients in the healing art. He did 
so, and the result proved highly beneficial ; so much so 
that he was able to use it sooner than I expected. 

The next day we crossed the Grand Round (a delight- 
ful valley of twenty miles in extent, watered by a 
pleasant stream), also the Blue Mountains, and descended 
into the valley of the Snake River. 

The scenes we passed over were, many of them, wild, 
and some of them romantic in the extreme ; but as more 
important matters press upon me, I cannot pause to de- 
scribe them. 

The Indians we now beheld on every side of us — but 
they offered no violence. 

The third day from crossing the Grand Round, we 
reached Fort Bois, where we passed the night. 

The next morning we pursued our journey ; having 
learned, meantime, that Black George, for whom I made 
particular inquiries, had passed here a few days before, 
in company with two other trappers, on their way to 
Fort Hall. 

This was cheering news to me ; and we pushed for- 



288 


A DISMAL NIGHT. 


ward, as fast as circumstances would permit, in the hope 
of overtaking him. 

About noon of the third day from leaving Fort Bois, 
we came upon some half a dozen fine-looking springs, 
when Teddy declared he must quench his thirst. 

As he descended from his horse, the Frenchman 
shrugged his shoulders and gave me a very significant 
wink. 

“What do you mean, Pierre?” I inquired, fully at a 
loss to comprehend what seemed to him a capital joke. 

“ Paix ! le diable !” he exclaimed, laying his hand on 
my arm and pointing to Teddy, who, having reached a 
spring, was just in the act of bending down to the water. 
“ Monsieur sail see.” 

“ See ?” I repeated. 

“ Oui, Monsieur.” 

“ What shall I see?” 

“ Och ! howly Moses ! be St. Pathrick ! jabers !” 
cried Teddy at this moment, springing to his feet and 
running toward us with all his fleetness, holding his 
tongue with one hand and pressing the other upon his 
forehead. “ Och ! murther ! Pm dead intirely — bit — ate 
up — claan killed, I is !” 

“ What is the matter ?” I inquired, unable to com- 
prehend the meaning of such strange actions, while 
Pierre leaned forward on his saddle and held both hands 
upon his sides, fairly screaming with laughter. 

“Mather, is’t?” rejoined Teddy. “ Musha ! but it’s 
mather intirely. Me tongue’s burnt out of me, jist, bar- 
ring about sax inches on’t.” 

“ Burned, Teddy ?” 

“ Ay, burnt, your honor — that’s the wor-r-d now. Sure, 
that’s the divil’s pool, and so it is, and it's himsilf must 
be hereabouts. Och ! but Pm in a hurry to lave the 
spot betimes ;” and springing into his saddle he rode 
away, in spite of my calls to the contrary, as fast as his 
beast could carry him. 

“ What is it, Pierre ?” I exclaimed ; but Pierre was 
too much convulsed to answer^ me; and, dismounting, I 
approached the miraculous water myself. 

Now I understood the joke ; and, to do myself jus- 


A DISMAL NIGHT. 289 

tice, I must say I so far imitated the Frenchman that I 
was unable to quit the spot for at least ten minutes. 

In his eager desire for a cool, refreshing draught, 
Teddy had plunged his face down into and gulped in a 
mouthful of boiling water, from what are known as the 
Hot Springs. 

Of these springs there are some five or six, the water 
of which bubbles up clear and sparkling, and, all meeting, 
form a small stream, which rolls away with a pleasing 
! murmur. 

No wonder Teddy, not understanding the phenome- 
non, and being superstitious too, should imagine Old 
Nick had something to do with it. 

“ Veil, you see, eh ?” exclaimed Pierre, as I remounted. 
“By gar! him von ver moche good joke! He tink he 
von diable, eh ?” and he ended with another hearty 
laugh, in which I was forced to join. 

About three miles further on we overtook Teddy, 
1 whose running ardor had cooled down to a quiet walk. 

“ Ah, faith,” said he, dolefully, “it’s mighty feared Fs 
; beginning to git that ye’d not come at all, at all.” 

I “ Why so, Teddy ?” 

! “ Oh, worra ! worra ! that I should iver live to taste 

I the divil’s pool ! And did ye sae him, body and bones, 

! your honor ? — and how did he look, if it’s all the same to 
I yees, and he no forbid your tilling rasonably ?” 

“ Why, Teddy, there was nothing to be alarmed at 
1 and I proceeded to explain the mystery. “ It is a very 
natural phenomenon, I assure you.” 

I “Nath’ral, is it? Och ! thin I have it, ’pon me 
: sowl !” 

“ Have what ?” 

“ Why, sure, your honor, I sae claan through it.” 

“Well, what do you see, Teddy ?” 

“ Musha ! but it’s the divil’s tae-pot.” 

“Tea-pot ?” 

“Ah ! troth and it is. Ould Sathan is at the bothom 
of it, do yees mind ! He haats the wather there, now, to 
coax saints todhrink tae wid him, the spalpeen ! and thin 
he’ll make the most of ’em, d’ye sae, your honor ! Och ! 
it’s a lucky man Teddy O’Lagherty is for gitting ofE so 
13 


290 


A DISMAL NIGHT. 


asy, barring he’s more unlucky by token he wint to the 
place at all, at all.” 

It had become a fixed fact with Teddy, which all my 
jests and arguments failed to alter, that the Hot Springs 
and his Satanic Majesty were indissolubly connected. 

But this did not lessen the joke, which for a longtime 
afterward served Pierre and myself as a specific for blue 
devils and ennui. 

As I said before, we were traveling through a country 
thickly peopled with savages. What we had seen of these 
appeared to be friendly ; but knowing the treacherous 
nature of many, we felt that self-preservation demanded 
we should at all times be on our guard. 

For this purpose our arms were always ready to our 
hands in the day-time, and at night each took his turn of 
standing sentinel. 

Thus far we had escaped every difficulty ; but Pierre 
often warned us not to be too sanguine'of reaching Fort 
Hall without a brush of some kind, as he well knew the 
nature of those surrounding us. 

The sun was just sinking behind the Blue Mountains, 
when we came to a small stream, a tributary of Snake 
River, that took its devious course through a valley be- 
tween two precipitous ridges, and thence through a 
cafion of a thousand feet in depth. 

The valley was shaded by large trees of various kinds, 
and was romantic in its appearance. It contained good 
grazing also, and good water, and this made it a desirable 
camp-ground. 

Hoppling our horses and setting them free, we kin- 
dled a fire, around which we squatted to cook our meat, 
smoke our pipes, and fill up the intervals with the most 
amusing subjects, among which Teddy and his “divil’s 
tae-pot” came in for their full quota of mirthful com- 
ment. 

At length we began to grow drowsy ; and having 
seen our animals tethered within the circle of the fire, 
and it being Pierre’s turn to stand guard, Teddy and I 
threw ourselves upon the ground, our blankets rolled 
around us, and soon were fast asleep. 


A DISMAL NIGHT. 


291 


I For an hour or two everything passed off quietly, 
when Pierre awoke me with a gentle shake. 

“ Ver sorre, Monsieur, to — vot you call him — deesturb 
' you, eh ? — but ze tam Injen — sacre le diable !” 

“Well,” said I, starting up, “what is it? Are we 
attacked ?” and at the same time I awoke Teddy. 

; “ By gar,” returned the Frenchman, “ I see von leetle 

s — vot you call him — sneaker, eh ? Him creep — creep — 
!i creep — and I tink I wake you, sare, and soot him dead !” 

“Faith, that’s it?” cried Teddy, grasping his rifle 
and springing to his feet : “ that’s it, now ! Shoot the 
haythen !” 

By this time I was fully aroused to the sense of danger ; 

I and quickly learning from Pierre where he had seen the 
savage, I grasped my rifle and sprung beyond the fire- 
light, in an opposite direction, followed by my com- 
panions. 

We had not gained ten paces, when crack, crack, 

! went some five or six muskets, the balls of which, 

^ whizzing over our heads, did not tend to lessen our 
speed. 

We reached the covert unharmed, however, and for 
1 the time considered ourselves safe. 

When we turned to reconnoiter, not a sign of a living 
I thing could we see save our horses, which stood with 
: ears erect, trembling and snorting, as if conscious of a 
r hidden foe. 

For an hour we remained in this manner ; when, con- 
;• eluding the enemy had departed, I proposed returning to 
f the fire. 

“ Hist !” whispered Pierre, grasping my arm. “ You 
‘ sail see. Monsieur.” 

^ And he was right ; for, not ten minutes afterward, he 
! silently directed my attention to some dark objects lying 
' flat upon the ground, which, with all my experience and 
i penetration, I could not believe were savages, until I 
' perceived them gradually nearing our horses. Then I 
: became alarmed, lest, reaching them, they might speedily 
mount and escape, leaving us to make the best of a peril- 
ous and toilsome journey on foot. 


292 


A DISMAL NIGHT. 


“ What is to be done, Pierre ? I fear we are in a bad 
fix.” 

“Jeme couche — je tire fur lui ; I lie down sare — I 
soot at him. You sail see. Stay von leetle minneet. 
Ven you hears my canon, den you soot and run at him 
as le diable.” 

Saying this, Pierre glided away as noiselessly as an 
Indian, and I saw nothing more of him for several 
minutes. 

Meanwhile Teddy and I kept our eyes intently fixed 
upon our stealthy foes, and our rifles in rest, ready to 
give them their deadly contents at a moment’s warning. 

Slowly, like a cat creeping upon her game, did these 
half-naked Indians, serpent-like, steal toward our ani- 
mals, every moment lessening the distance between them 
and the objects of their desires. 

I began to grow nervous. What had become of 
Pierre ? If he intended to do anything, now I thought 
was the time ; a few moments more, and it would be too 
late ; and, acting upon this thought, I drew a bead upon 
the most advanced savage, and was about pulling the 
trigger, when the latter suddenly bounded to his feet, 
uttered a yell of delight, and sprung toward the now 
frightened animals, imitated in his manoeuvre by some 
ten or twelve others. 

Good Heaven ! all is lost !” I exclaimed, bitterly. 

The words had scarcely passed my lips, when bang 
went a pistol from among the horses ; and the foremost 
savage — the one I had singled out, and who was on the 
point of grasping one of the tether ropes — bounded into 
the air, with a horrible yell, and fell back a corpse. 

This was wholly unlooked for by his companions, and 
checked for an instant those pressing on behind. 

Remembering Pierre’s request, I whispered to Teddy 
to “throw ” his man and charge. 

Both our rifles spoke together, and down tumbled 
two more. 

At the same moment Pierre’s rifle sent another to his 
account ; and, simultaneously springing forward, all three 
of us made the welkin ring with our shouts of joy and 
defiance. 


A DISMAL NIGHT. 


293 


This settled the matter to our triumph. The Indians 
became alarmed and bewildered. They had counted on 
certain success in stealing our horses without the loss of 
a man. Four had fallen in twice as many seconds ; and 
fancying themselves in an ambuscade, they turned, with 
wild yells of affright, and disappeared in every direction ; 
so that by the time I had joined Pierre, we were 
masters of the field, and not an unwounded foe in 
sight. 

“ You see hoss safe. Monsieur,” said Pierre, hurriedly, 
as we met ; “ and I see to ze Injen, eh ?” and without wait- 
ing for a reply, he darted forward, and the next moment 
was engaged in tearing off the bloody scalps of the 
slain. 

As every mountaineer considers this his prerogative, 
I did not interfere ; but ordering Teddy to assist me, we 
cut the lariats and led our horses back into the darkness, 
for fear of another attack, in which we might come out 
second best. 

In a few minutes Pierre approached me leisurely, and 
laughingly said : 

“Tout va bien : All pe veil, sare and he held up to 
the light four bloody scalps. “Von, two, tree, not pe 
dead, I kill him. Good for — vot you call him — stealer, 
eh ? — ha, ha, ha !” and taking out his box, he deliber- 
ately proceeded to take snuff with his bloody fingers ; 
adding, by way of accompaniment : “Von good ver moche 
exsallant joke, him — ha, ha, ha ! Sacre ! me tink him 
get von leetle — vot you call him — astonishment, eh ? By 
gar ! ver moche good.” 

As we did not consider it prudent to venture again 
within the fire-light, we decided to remain where we 
were through the night, and guard against a surprise. 

All was dark around us, except in the direction of the 
roaring fire, which, flickering to the passing breeze, made 
the scene of our late encampment look dismal enough. 

To add to its gloom and cheerlessness, we were pres- 
ently greeted with the distant howl of a hungry pack of 
wolves. Every moment these howls grew louder, show- 
ing the animals were approaching the spot, while our 


294 


A DISMAL NIGHT. 


horses snorted and became so restive we could scarcely 
hold them. 

Nearer and nearer came the hungry beasts of prey, 
till at length we could perceive their fiery eyeballs, and 
occasionally catch a glimpse of their bodies, as they hov- 
ered around the circle of the fire, fearing to approach the 
carcasses they so much coveted. 

For an hour or two they prowled and howled around 
us, “making night hideous with their orgies,” while the 
fire gradually grew less and less bright, the gloom deep- 
ened, and their boldness increased accordingly. 

At last one, unable longer to bear the keen pangs of 
hunger, leaped forward and buried his teeth and claws in 
the carcass of one of our late foes ; the others followed 
his example ; and in less than a minute as many as fifty 
of these ravenous animals were growling, fighting, 
gnashing their teeth, and tearing the flesh from the 
bones of the dead Indians. 

Pierre now informed me we were in imminent danger 
of being attacked ourselves — as, having once tasted 
blood, and their appetites being rather sharpened than 
appeased, they would only become more bold in con- 
sequence. 

To my inquiry as to what should be done, he replied 
that we must continue to kill one of their number as fast 
as he might be devoured by his companions ; and, setting 
the example, he shot one forthwith. 

Sure enough ! no sooner had the beast fallen, than 
the rest sprung upon and devoured him. 

My rifle being loaded, I knocked over another, which 
met the same fate ! 

In this manner we kept firing alternately for a couple 
of hours, during which time the old stock was replen- 
ished by new-comers, and I began to fancy that all of the 
genus would be present before daylight. 

But at last one after another got satisfied, and slunk 
away, licking his chaps. No new ones appeared ; and, 
ere the stars grew dim, nothing was visible of the last 
night’s butchery but a collection of clean-licked, shiny 
bones. 

While the fire lasted, we could see to take sight ; but 


THE OLD TRAPPER AGAIN. 


295 


after that went out, we fired at random ; though, know- 
ing the exact location of the beasts, our shots generally- 
proved successful in killing or wounding. 

When morning again put a smiling face upon the 
recent sable earth, we mounted our horses and left the 
loathsome spot, thanking God for our providential de- 
liverance. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

THE OLD TRAPPER AGAIN. 

was a warm, pleasant afternoon in June that 
we came in sight of Fort Plall, which we 
hailed with three cheers of delight ; and, set- 
ting spurs to our horses, in less than half an 
hour we rode gayly through the gates. 

As we entered the area, which, though much smaller, 
was fashioned like Fort Laramie, I perceived a small 
group of mountaineers or trappers, among whom were 
two or three Indians, all apparently engaged in some im- 
portant traffic. The next moment I heard a well-known 
voice exclaim : 

“ It’s done gone then, or I’m no snakes ; and heyar’s 
what never backs for nobody and nothin’ !” 

The next moment the speaker sauntered toward me, 
just as I had dismounted from my horse. 

As he approached, he looked me steadily in the face 
for a moment ; and then, springing forward, with hand 
extended and flashing eyes, he fairly shouted : 

“Bosson ! for a thousand wild cats ! I’ll be dog-gone 
ef it ain’t !” and, ere the sentence was concluded, my 
hand was suffering under tlie powerful but welcome 
pressure of that of Black George. “ Wall,” he added, 
“ I’ll be teetotal rumflumuxed, ef I don’t think you’re a 
trump, and a ace at that ! Whar d’ye come from now ? 



296 


THE OLD TRAPPER AGAIN. 


and which way’s you goiii’ ? ef it’s not tallied on a pri- 
vate stick.” 

“ I came direct from Oregon City,” I answered, by no 
means backward in displaying my delight at meeting 
him again. 

“ Whar’s the garls ?” 

“ Left them all behind me.” 

“ Augh ! S’pect you left your heart thar too, eh ?” 

“ Possibly.” 

“ Fd sw’ar it. Wall, boss, I don’t blame ye. Them’s 
abput as nice human picters as ever this critter seed. Ef 
Fd a ben thirty year younger, I mought hev got into 
deep water thar myself and lost the whole kit. How- 
somever, this coon never tried treein’ a garl but once’t — 
and Suke Harris soon blowed damp weather on to my 
powder, and it warn’t no shoot, noliow — augh ! Wall, 
w’all,” he added, with something like a sigh, “ them’s 
by-gones anyhow, and s'pect it’s all for the best ; ’case Fm 
an old dog, and lead a wanderin’ life ; and when I kind 
o’ git rubbed out — why, ye see, I hain’t got no pups nor 
nothin’ to.be a barkin’ over my last roost.” 

Here Black George coughed a little, and turned aside 
his head, when his eyes chanced upon Teddy and Pierre, 
who, having dismounted at another part of the inclosure, 
were now approaching to join me. 

“ Why, hello, hoss ! how goes it ?” continued the old 
trapper, addressing the Irishman and extending his 
hand. “And here’s Pierre, too, lookin’ as nateral as a 
young cub ; and I’ll be dog-gone ef that same old smell- 
box ain’t jest whar it used to was, a reg’lar fortress, 
makin’ his lingers runners ’twixt it and his nose. Augh ! 
gin us a chawr and see the ginteel done.” 

“Faith, ye’re the same ould chap I” rejoined Teddy, 
grasping one hand, while the Frenchman took the other. 
“ Sure and it’s good for sore eyes to sae the likes o’ yees 
ag’in !” 

“ Ah, Monsieur Blake Shorge,” added Pierre, “ it 
give me von ver moche le plus grande delight, for — vot 
you call him — discoverment you, eh? Ver exceeding 
moche glad, by gar !” 


THE OLD TRAPPER AGAIN. 


297 


As soon as the congratulations were over on all 
! sides, Black George turned to me with : 

“ Well, Bosson, hearn anything o’ your pardner ?” 

“ Nothing ; and I am now on my way to hunt him 
out, if among the living.” 

j “ A long tramp, and no beaver, or I’m no sinner !” 
r “ You think it impossible for me to find him, then ?” 

I “ Wall, boss, it’s hard sayin’ what’s impossible ; but 

I’d jest as soon think o’ huntin’ for a singed tail beaver, 
I would, and odds on my side to that.” 

Here I entered into an explanation of how he was 
lost, and wound up by asking : 

“ And now do you not think it possible he was taken 
prisoner ?” 

“ Nothin’ agin it, as I knows on.” 

“And if taken prisoner by the Mexicans, is it not 
possible — nay, more, is it not probable — he was sold into 
slavery ?” 

“ \Vhy,” replied Black George, who seemed struck 
with this last suggestion, “ I’ll gin in it sort o’ edges 
that way, that’s a fact — I’ll be dog-gone ef it don’t ! 
But s’pose it’s all so — how’s you to diskiver him ? — 
’case it looks a heap mixed to this child, to see it in the 
cl’arest light.” 

“ That is just what I wish to know myself, and for 
that purpose I have started on the search — being the 
least, to my mind, I could do under the circumstances.” 

“ Then you’re bound sothe, I s’pose ?” 

“ Exactly ; and I want you to join me, with three as 
good men as you can select.” 

“ Ah, yes ; but ye see it’s beaver time now, and — ” 

“ I understand ; but I am willing to pay you as much 
as you could make in your regular vocation.” 

“ You is, hey ? Wall, come, now, that’s a sensible and 
feelin’ speech, and you couldn’t hev bettered the gist on’t 
ef you’d a splattered it over with all the big words you 
knows. I like a straight for’ard-toe-the-mark way o’dealin’ 
— I’ll be dogged ef I don’t ! — and bein’s 1 know you’re a 
gentleman — why. I’ll jest tell ye I’m in, ef it takes all my 
ha’r to put her through. Besides, thar’s a ciiance to raise 
ha’r, and that’s a sport as this coon al’ays had a nateral 


298 


THE OLD TRAPPER AGAIN. 


incline for. I’ve jest got in from the Blues, and made a 
sale of some hides — so Fm ready to travel and fight jest 
when you says the word. Got any bacca ?” 

“ Can you raise me three more of the same sort ?” 

*‘I reckon.” 

“ Do so ; and we will start, if possible, to-morrow 
morning.” 

“ Wall, that’ll jest save me a big spree — augh ! I say, 
boys,” he continued, drawing from the pocket of his 
hunting-shirt a small canteen, “got the critter here — and 
so s’pose we take an inside wet, eh ? S’pect ’twon’t hurt 
your feelings none ;” and he set an example which was 
very accurately followed. 

“By the by, George,” said I, “have you seen or heard 
anything of Prairie Flower, since tliat night when she ap- 
peared, gave the alarm, and disappeared so mysteriously ?” 

“ Jest what I’s a-goin’ to ax you. No, 1 hain’t never 
sot eyes on her purty face sence ; but I hearn a trapper, 
as come from the sothe, say as he had seed her down to 
Taos way, and all her Injins was along. She was axin’ 
him, now I come to remember, ef he’d hearn o’ a prisoner 
bein’ took that-a- ways and sold to the mines.” 

“ Ha ! yes ! well ? what did he reply?” exclaimed I, 
as a sudden thought struck me. 

“That he’d hearn o’ several — but none in partikelar.” 

• “ Heaven bless her ! I understand it all !” 

“ All what ?” inquired Black George. 

“Why, when I saw Prairie Flower last, I informed 
her of the fate of Charles Huntly ; and ten to one she has 
set off to search for him !” 

“That’s it, for my old muley !” cried Black George, 
not a little excited. “I’ve said afore she was a angel, 
and heyar’s a possum that don’t speak without knowin’ ! 
Lord bless her ! 1 could love her like darnation, jest for 
that ! Ef she ain’t one on 'em, why was peraries made, 
hey ?” 

A few minutes more were -spent in like conversation, 
when Black George parted from me to engage some 
companions for our journey. 

Bidding Teddy- look to our horses, I entered the com- 


THE OLD TRAPPER AGAIN, 


299 


mon reception-room of the fort, greatly elated at the in- 
telligence just received. 

Sweet Prairie Flower ! She was doubtless at that 
very moment engaged in an undertaking which should 
have been performed by me long before, and I could not 
but condemn myself for what seemed either a great over- 
sight or gross neglect of duty. 

And should Heaven favor her, and she discover my 
friend and set him free, what a debt of gratitude would 
he owe her for saving him twice ? first from death, and 
secondly from a slavery worse than death. 

And should this happen, what would be the result to 
two beings, who, whatever might be outward seemings, 
loved each other purely and passionately ! 

Sweet, mysterious Prairie Flower ! I could hardly 
realize she was only mortal ; for there was something in 
her every look, thought and deed, which seemed to lift 
her above the human race. 

In the course of an hour Black George rejoined me, 
bringing with him three large-boned, robust, good-look- 
ing fellows, who, he informed me, were ready to follow 
me at a fair remuneration. In a few minutes everything 
w^as settled, when each departed to make preparations 
for an early start on the morrow. 

A Sturm, however, set in during the night, which 
raged with such violence the next morning that I was 
compelled to defer my departure for twenty-four hours 
longer. 

To me the day wore tediously away ; for my mind 
was continually harping on my lost friend and Prairie 
Flower ; and now that I had gained some intelligence of 
the latter, I could not avoid connecting the two in a way 
to raise my hopes in a great degree, and render me 
doubly anxious to be on the way. 

But if the delay proved tedious to me, not so did it to 
my companions, who had a merry time of it over their 
cups and cards ; and they drank and played till it became 
a serious matter for them to distinguish an ace of trumps 
from a gill of whisky. 

However, the day went at last, as all days will, and I 


300 


THE OLD TRAPPER AGAIN. 


was gratified the second morning with a glance at tlie 
sun as it rose bright and glorious in the east. 

I hastened to rouse my companions, who were rather 
the worse for the previous day’s indulgence, and in a 
short time we were all mounted and in motion, a goodly 
company of seven. 

Shaping our course southward, a couple of hours 
brought us to Port Neuf River, which we found very 
turbulent from the late storm, and in consequence very 
difficult to cross. 

After examining the banks for some distance, and 
finding no good ford, we determined on swimming it. 

This was no easy undertaking ; for the current ran 
very swiftly, and loudly roared, as its flashing but muddy 
waters dashed furiously against trie rocks, which here and 
there reared their ugly heads, as if with a half-formed in- 
tention of damming and forcing it into another channel. 

“ Monsieur,” said Pierre to me, as we stood hesitating 
what to do, “you see ze odder bank, eh?,” 

I nodded assent. 

“ Sacre ! now I tell you I sail ’ave von grande satis- 
factione of put my foot dere — or I sail be von — by gar ! 
vot you call him — dead, wet horn me, eh?” 

As he spoke, he spurred his horse forward, and the 
next moment the fiery animal was nobly contending 
with an element, which, in spite of his struggles, rapidly 
bore him down on its bosom ; while his rider, as if to 
show his utter contempt for danger, sat erect on his back, 
coolly engaged in taking snuff. 

“Thunder!” exclaimed Black George, with a grin ; 
“ef thar ain’t that old smell-box ag’in ! Ef ever he goes 
under, he’ll do it with a sneeze. Augh 1” 

“ Sure and it’s throublesome he finds the wather now, 
I’m thinking,” observed Teddy. 

“ Good heavens ! he is indeed in difficulty !” I ex- 
claimed. “Quick! let us ride down the bank and be 
prepared to give him aid !” 

And in fact our aid came none too soon ; for the 
stream had borne both rider and horse down to a narrow 
channel, where the water rushed furiously over the rocks, 
and, being partially obstructed below, formed an eddy or 


THE OLD TRAPPER AGAIN. 


301 


whirlpool of a very dangerous character, in which the 
beast was floundering and vainly striving to reach either 
bank. 

By this time Pierre had become aware of his danger, 
and was exerting his utmost skill to keep his seat and 
guide his animal safely out of the fearful vortex. 

Just below him was a short, narrow reach, of consider* 
able depth, with a slight fall at its further termination, 
where the water seethed and foamed with great violence ; 
after which it became comparatively tranquil, as it 
spread out on a broad level, to again concentrate its 
greatest force at a point still below. 

As we reached the bank alongside of the guide, we 
all dismounted ; when Black George, leaping upon a 
steep rock which overhung the stream, instantly threw 
him a rope that he had selected for the purpose. 

Pierre caught one end of it eagerly, and, fearing to 
remain longer where he was, instantly abandoned his 
horse and plunged into the water. 

The next minute we had drawn him ashore, though 
not entirely scatheless, as the whirling current had sev- 
eral times thumped him against the rocks, and bruised 
his limbs and body in several places. 

Pierre, however, seemed to care more for his horse 
than himself ; and no sooner had he found a safe footing 
on terra firma., than, giving himself a shake, he cried : 
“ Mine hoss, by gar !" and darted away to the rescue of 
the unfortunate brute, which was now being hurried 
against his will through the canon. 

We all followed Pierre down the stream ; but ere we 
gained the tranquil part of the river, before spoken of, the 
animal had passed safely over the falls, and, with a joyful 
whinny, was now fast swimming to the shore, where he 
was soon caught by his owner, who expressed his joy 
in sundry shouts and singular antics. 

“ Ah ! sacre !” cried the Frenchman, as he remounted 
his gallant pony, shaking his hand with an air of defiance 
at the heedless river : “ I sail ’ave von le plus satisfactione 
again try your tarn trowning ; ” and no sooner said, than 
he spurred into the liquid element, and succeeded, after 


302 TRAPPING AND A STAMPEDE. 


some difficulty, in gaining the opposite shore ; an ex- 
ample we all safely imitated. 

We now struck one of the most northern points of 
the Bear River Mountains; and for the rest of the day 
we pursued our course without accident, over steep 
ridges, through dangerous defiles, dense thickets, deep 
gorges and ravines, passing yawning chasms, and all the 
concomitants of wild mountain scenery. 

Sometimes we stood on a point which commanded 
an extensive view of a country of great beauty and 
grandeur — where the soul could expand and revel amid 
the unchanged fastnesses of a thousand years — and anon 
we were completely hidden from the sight of anything 
but the interwoven shrubbery, through which we dili- 
gently labored our way. 

At last we came to a fine spring, around which grew 
a limited circle of excellent grass, presenting the appear- 
ance of a spot, which, at some remote period, had been 
cultivated. 

Here we encamped, built a fire, ate our suppers, and 
slept to the music of howling wolves. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

TRAPPING AND A STAMPEDE. 

T is unnecessary to weary the reader with 
further details of mountain life. Unless in 
cases of extreme peril, from savages or wild 
beasts, the scenes are monotonous ; and 
enough I think has been recorded to give a 
correct idea of life as it is, with all its dangers and hard- 
ships. beyond the boundaries of civilization. I may there- 
fore be permitted to press forward and annihilate time 
and space, only pausing occasionally to give something 



TRAPPING AND A STAMPEDE. 


303 


new, or something out of the regular routine of every 
day venture. ^ 

It was my intention, on leaving Fort Hall, to make 
the best of my way toward Taos, a small Mexican village, 
much frequented by mountaineers, situated on the 
western side of an arm of the Green Mountains, some 
fifty or sixty miles north of Santa Fe, and on a small 
tributary of the Rio Grande. 

This was to be my first destination, and where I was 
in hopes of gaining some intelligence of my friend, from 
the many adventurers there collected, the traveling rep- 
resentatives of all the territories as well as Mexico. 

It was possible, too, I might fall in with Prairie 
Flower and her tribe, from whom I had sanguine expec- 
tations of gaining some information, either good or bad. 
If Prairie Flower had, as I inferred from what Black 
George imparted, actually been in search of Charles 
Huntly, I could at once gain tiie result and extent of her 
operations and shape my own accordingly. With this 
view of the matter, as may readily be supposed, I felt no 
little anxiety to see her, and on no route to my thinking 
would I be more likely to find her than on the one I 
had chosen and was now pursuing. 

Making the best of our way over the hills, we struck 
the Bear River on the third day from leaving Fort 
Hall. 

This river, which takes its rise in the very heart of 
the mountain range to which it gives a name, presents 
the curious phenomenon of a stream running adverse 
ways, and nearly parallel to itself, for a distance of from 
one to two hundred miles. Beginning, as just stated, in 
the very center of the Bear River Mountains, it flows 
away northward on its devious course for a hundred and 
fifty or two hundred miles, and then, encircling a high 
ridge with the bend of an ox bow, runs southward nearly 
the same distance, enlarging with numerous tributaries, 
and emptying at last into the Great Salt Lake within 
fifty or seventy-five miles of its own head waters. 

Formerly this stream was much resorted to by trap- 
pers, who here found beaver very numerous and moun- 
tain game in abundance. Beaver dams, in process of 


304 


TRAPPING AND A STAMPEDE. 


decay, may here and there be seen at the present day — 
and, at rare intervals, a thriving settlement of the little 
fellows themselves — but, as Black George remarked, 
with a sigh of regret : 

“ It ain’t what it used to was, no how.” 

Soon after we had camped. Black George, who ever 
had an eye to business, started out in search of game, 
and soon returned with the intelligence that “beaver 
sign was about,” and forthwith proceeded to get his 
traps, which he had brought along in his possibles. 

“ What are you going to do?” I inquired. 

“ Make ’em come, lioss — nothin’ short.” 

As I had never witnessed the modus operandi of 
catching beaver, I expressed a desire to do so, which was 
responded to with : 

“ Come on, Bosson, and I’ll put ye through — I’ll be 
dog-gone ef I don’t !” 

Taking our way to the river, which was here rather 
shallow. Black George led me down some two hundred 
yards, and then directed my attention to some small 
tracks made in the muddy bottom of the stream along the 
margin of the water. 

“ Them’s the sign, d’ye see ! and thar’s fur about, sar- 
tin, or this possum don’t know shucks.” 

Saying this, the old mountaineer proceeded to set his 
traps, of which he had some five or six. Moistening a 
small stick in his “ medicine,” as he termed it — an oily 
substance obtained from a gland of the beaver — he fast- 
ened it to the trap, and then placed the latter in the 
“run ” of the animal, just under the edge of the water, 
securing it to a sapling on the bank by a small cord. 
Another cord led off from the trap several feet, and was 
attached to a “ floating stick ” — so called from its floating 
on the water — by which appendage the trapper, in case 
the beaver gets away with his property, is enabled to re- 
cover it. 

“And now,” said I, when he had done, “what induce- 
ment has the animal to become your victim ?” 

“ Why he gits to be my meat, you mean ?” 

“ Exactly.” 

“Wall, I’ll jest explanify — though mayhap I’ll not git 


TRAPPING AND A STAMPEDE. 


305 


it out as scientiferic as some folks — for, as I said some 
time ago, edication never come in this child’s line. Ye 
see, it’s jest this : beaver’s like I’ve hearn say women- 
folks was. He’s got an orful cur’osity, and it gits him 
into bad snaps without his intendin’ it. Ye see, he'll 
come along here arter a while, and he’ll smell that thar 
‘ medicine,’ and think mayhap thar’s another beaver 
about — leastways he’ll want to know purty bad — and so 
he’ll come smellin’ round, and, afore he knows it, his foot 
gits into the trap and thar he is. Augh !” 

Having delivered himself of this. Black George 
quietly continued his operations, till all his traps were 
set, and then together we returned to our camp. 

On arriving there I found that the beaver mania had 
taken possession of Black George’s companions, who 
were in consequence absent with like sinister designs 
against the harmless little fellows. 

On returning with the old mountaineer in the morn- 
ing, I soon discovered he had “ made a raise,” as he ex- 
pressed it, “ of three old uns and a kitten.” The other 
trappers were somewhat successful also ; so that on 
that fatal night no less than a dozen beavers lost their 
“ run ” forever. 

Before raising camp, my mountain friends proceeded 
to skin the animals, scrape the inside of the pelts of fat 
and all superfluous matter, and then stretch them on 
hoops for drying — after which they were ready for pack- 
ing. This latter is done by turning the fur inside, put- 
ting several together and fastening them with cords, 
when they are tightly pressed into the possibles of the 
trapper, and thus conveyed on mules to the rendezvous- 
market, which is sometimes in one place and sometimes 
in another. 

The labor of the trapper is very severe, and his perils 
without number. Sometimes he traps on his own account 
— alone, or with two or three associates — and sometimes 
for a company. In the first instance he is known as the 
“ free trapper” — in the second as the “ hired hand.” 

In either case, however, his hardships are the same. 
He sets off to the mountains as soon as the spring rains 
are over, and there generally remains till the approach- 


3o6 trapping and A STAMPEDE. 


ing; storms of autumn drive him to v^rinter quarters, where 
his time is spent in all kinds of dissipation to which he 
is accessible. If he makes a fortune in the summer, he 
spends it in the winter, and returns to his vocation in the 
spring as poor as when he started the year previous ; and 
not unfrequently worse off ; for, if a “free trapper,” ten 
to one but he sacrifices his animals in some drunken, gam- 
bling spree, and is forced to go out on credit, or as a 
“ hired hand.” He braves all kinds of weather in his 
business, and all kinds of danger, from the common ac- 
cidents of the mountains, to his conflicts with wild beasts 
and wilder and more ferocious savages. But he is a 
philosopher, and does not mind trifles. So he escapes 
with whole bones, or even with life, he looks upon his 
hardships, encounters and mishaps, only as so much 
literary stock, to be retailed out to his companions over 
a warm fire, a euchre deck, and a canteen of whisky. 

Seeking the best beaver regions, he scans carefully all 
the rivers, creeks and rivulets in the vicinity for “ beaver 
sign,” regardless of danger. If he finds a tree across a 
stream, he gives it close attention, to ascertain whether 
it is there by accident, by human design, or whether it is 
“ thrown” by the animal of his search for the purpose of 
damming the water. If the first or second, he passes on ; 
if the last, he begins his search for the “ run of the crit- 
ter.” He carefully scrutinizes all the banks, and peers 
under them for “ beaver tracks.” If he finds any, his next 
examination is to ascertain whether they are “old” or 
“ fresh.” If the latter, then his traps are set forthwith, in 
the manner already shown. 

In his daily routine of business he not unfrequently 
encounters terrible storms of rain or snow — the former 
sufficient to deluge him and raise rivulets to rivers — and 
the latter to bury him, without almost superhuman 
exertions, far from mortal eye, and there hold him to 
perish, 

“ Unwept, unhonored and unsung.” 

These are the least of his dangers. He is often 
attacked by wild beasts, when nothing but his presence 
of mind, his coolness and good marksmanship, can extri- 


TRAPPING AND A STAMPEDE. 307 


cate him from his difficulty ; and yet he rarely fails to 
come off conqueror. Escaping these, he must be contin- 
ually on his guard against his worst foe, the wily Indian ; 
so that he can never approach a bush with the surety that 
a treacherous ball may not put a close to his mortal 
career, and all his hard earnings pass into the hands of 
an enemy he ever hates with the bitterness of concen- 
trated passion. With all these dangers, hardships and 
vicissitudes, your genuine trapper loves his calling, 
would not be content to follow any other, and is in gen- 
eral a rough, jolly, dare devil sort of a fellow, who not 
unfrequently attains to the appointed age of man, and at 
last “goes under,” with all the stoicism of a martyr, • 

“ With not a stone, and not a line, 

To tell he e’er had been.” 

Continuing our course, but in a more easterly direc- 
tion, we at length quitted the mountains and descended 
to a large, beautiful, rolling prairie, with little or no 
vegetation but short, buffalo grass. 

Taking our way over this, we had been about half a 
day out, and were beginning to lose sight of the lower 
ranges of hills, when we heard a deep rumbling, like 
heavy thunder, or a distant earthquake, and our guide 
came to a sudden halt, exclaiming : 

“ Le diable !” 

“ Howly jabers ! what is it, now ?” cried Teddy. 

“ Hist !” exclaimed Black George. “ I’ll be dog-gone 
ef I don’ think we’re chawrd up this time, sure as 
sin !” 

“ What is it ?” I echoed. 

“ Von grande stampede, by gar !” answered Pierre. 

“ Stampede of what, I pray ?” 

“ Buffler,” replied Black George. 

“ Where are they ?” 

“Yonder they is now — here a-ways they soon will 
be and as he spoke, he pointed over the plain with his 
finger. 

Following the direction with my eyes, I beheld in 
the distance a cloud of dust, which rolled upward like a 


3o8 trapping and A STAMPEDE. 


morning fog, through whicli, and in which, I could occa- 
sionally catch a glimpse of the huge animals, as they 
bounded forward with railroad velocity. 

“ What is to be done?” I cried. 

“Grin and bear it !” responded the old trapper. 

“ But we shall be trodden to death ! See ! they are 
coming this way !” 

“ Can’t die younger !” was the cool rejoinder. 

“ But can we not fly ?” 

“ Howly Moses !” shouted Teddy, worked up to a 
keen pitch of excitement ; “ it’s fly we must, sure, as if the 
divil was afther us, barring that our flying must be did 
on baasts, as have no wings, now, but long legs, jist.” 

“What for you run, eh?” grinned the Frenchman. 
“ Him catche you, by gar ! just so easy as you catche 
him, von leetle, zemp — vot you call him — mosquito, 
eh ?” 

“It’s no use o’ showin’ them critters our backs,” re- 
joined Black George. “ Heyar’s what don’t turn back 
on nothin’ that’s got ha’r.” 

“ Well,” continued I, “you may do as you please; 
but as for myself I have no desire to stand in my tracks 
and die without an effort.” 

Saying this, I wheeled my horse, and was just in the 
act of putting spurs to him, when Black George suddenly 
dashed iip alongside and caught my bridle. 

“See heyar, boy — don’t go to runnin’ — or you’ll 
discomflumicate yourself oudaciously — you will, by 
thunder ! Eh, Pierre ?” 

“ Certainment, by gar !” answered the guide ; and 
then both burst into a hearty laugh. 

“ What do you mean ?” cried I, in astonishment, un- 
able to comprehend their singular actions ; and I turned 
to the other mountaineers, who were sitting quietly on 
their horses, and inquired if they did not think there was 
danger. 

“ Thar’s al’ays danger,” replied one, “ in times like 
this here ; but thar’s no safety in runnin’ !” 

“ For Heaven’s sake ! what are we to do, then ? Stay 
here quietly and get run over ?” 

Black George gave a quiet laugh, and the Frenchman 


TRAPPING AND A STAMPEDE. 


309 


proceeded to take snuff. This was too much for my 
patience. I felt myself insulted ; and jerking away my 
rein, from the hand of the trapper, I exclaimed, indig- 
nantly : 

“I do not stay here to be the butt of any party. 
Teddy, follow me !” 

The next moment I was dashing over the prairie at 
the full speed of my horse, with the Irishman, to use a 
nautical phrase, close in my wake, whooping and 
shouting. 

The direction we had taken was the same as that pur- 
sued by the running buffaloes ; and we could only hope 
for ultimate safety by reaching some huge tree, rock, or 
other obstacle to their progress, in advance of them. 

How far we would have to run to accomplish this, 
there was no telling ; for, as far as the eye could reach 
ahead of us, we saw nothing but the same monotonous, 
rolling plain. 

The beasts, thundering on in our rear, were so nume- 
rous, and their line so broad, that an attempt to ride out 
of their way, by turning to the right or left, could not 
be thought of, as the velocity of the animals would be 
certain to bring a wing upon us ere we could clear their 
lines. 

There was nothing for it, then, but a dead race ; and, 
I will be free to own, the thought of this fairly chilled 
my blood. Exposed as I had been to all kinds of danger, 
I had never felt more alarmed and depressed in spirits 
than now. 

What could my companions mean by their indiffer- 
ence and levity? Was it possible that, having given 
themselves up for lost, the excitement had stupefied 
some and turned the brains of others ? Horrible thought! 
I shuddered, and turned on my horse to look back. 

There they stood, dismounted, rifles in hand, and, just 
beyond them, the mighty host still booming forward. 
Poor fellows ! all hope with them is over, I thought ; 
and, with a sigh at their fate, I withdrew my gaze and 
urged on my steed. 

On, on we sped, for a mile or more, when I ventured 
another look behind me. 


310 TRAPPING AND A STAMPEDE. 


Judge of my surprise, on beholding a long line of 
buffaloes to the right and left, rushing away in different 
directions ; while directly before me nothing was visible 
but my friends, who, on perceiving me look back, made 
signs for me to halt and wait for them. 

I did so, and in a few minutes they came up laughing. 

“ Why, Bosson,” said Black George, waggishly, “ I 
hope as how you’ve run the skeer out o’ ye by this 
time, for I’ll be dog-gone ef you can’t travel a few !” 

“Oui, Monsieur,” added Pierre, “vous ’ave von le 
plus grande — vot you call him — locomotion, eh ?” 

“ But how, in the name of all that is wonderful, did 
you escape ?” rejoined I. 

“ Jest as nateral as barkin’ to a pup,” answered Black 
George. “ We didn’t none on us hev no fear at no time ; 
and was only jest playin’ possum, to see ef we could make 
your ha’r stand — never ’specting’, though, you was a-goin’ 
to put out and leave us.” 

“ But pray tell me how you extricated yourselves ?” 
said I, feeling rather crestfallen at my recent unlieroic 
display. 

“ Why, jest as easy as shootin’ — and jest that, boss, and 
nothin’ else.” 

“ Explain yourself !” 

“ Wall, then, we kind o’ waited till them critters got 
up, so as we could see their peepers shine, and then we 
all burnt powder and tumbled over two or three leaders. 
This skeered them as was behind, and they jest sniffed, and 
snorted, and sot off ayther ways like darnation. It warn’t 
nothing wonderful, that warn’t, and it ’ud been onnateral 
for ’em to done anything else.” 

“ I say, your honor,” rejoined Teddy, with a signifi- 
cant wink, “it’s like, now, we’ve made jackasses o’ our- 
silves, barring your honor.” 

“ Very like,” returned I, biting my lips with vexation, 
“all but the barring.” 

The truth is, I felt much as one caught in a mean act, 
and I would have given no small sum to have had the 
joke on some one else. 

I detected many a quiet smile curling the lips of my 
companions, when they thought I did not notice them ; 


CAAfP STORIES AND THE ATTACK. 31 1 


and I knew by this they were laughing in their sleeves, as 
the saying is ; but, being in my service, did not care to 
irritate my feelings by a more open display. 

It is very galling to a sensitive person to know he has 
made himself ridiculous, and is a private subject of jest 
with his inferiors. It is no use for one under such cir- 
cumstances to fret, and foam, and show temper. No ! 
such things only make the matter worse. The best way 
is to come out boldly, own to the joke, and join in the 
laugh. Acting upon this, I said : 

“Friends, I have made a fool of myself — I am aware 
of it — and you are at liberty to enjoy the joke to its full 
extent. But remember, you must not spread it ! and 
when we reach a station, consider me your debtor for a 
‘ heavy wet ’ all around.” 

This proved a decided hit. All laughed freely at the 
time ; and that was the last I heard of it till I fulfilled 
my liquor pledge at Uintah Fort ; when Black George 
ventured the toast, “ Buffler and a run,” which was fol- 
lowed with roars of mirth at my expense ; and there the 
matter ended. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
CAMP STORIES AND THE ATTACK. 



ASSING Uintah Fort, which awakened many 
painful recollections of what had occurred 
since my former visit here in company with 
my lost friend, we took a southerly course, 
and, crossing Green River, continued over an 
undulating, mountainous country, to Grand River, and 
thence to the most northern range of the Green Moun- 
tains, where gush forth the head waters of the Arkansas 
and Rio Grande. 

Here we came to a beautiful valley, shut in by high 
hills, through which flowed a limpid stream, whose banks 


312 CAMP STOP IPS AND THE ATTACK. 


wore a velvet covering of rich, green grass and innumer- 
able wild flowers. A little back from the stream, on 
either side, was a delightful grove, stretching away in 
rows of artificial regularity. 

In fact, from what I saw, and the information I 
gathered from my companions, I have every reason 
to believe this valley was at one time a nobleman’s 
park. 

I said it was shut in by hills ; but there was one out- 
let toward the west, where the streamlet flowed gently 
away between two ridges. 

Entering through this pass, you are struck with the 
singular beauty of the spot ; and not more so than by a 
huge pile of ruins on a gentle eminence away to the right. 

Here, as tradition goes, once stood a famous castle, 
belonging to a Spanish nobleman, who, for some state 
intrigue, was exiled his country, but who subsequently 
flourished here in great power. 

He had a beautiful daughter, to whom a descendant 
of the Aztecs paid court ; but neither the father nor the 
daughter fancied the suitor, and his suit was rejected. 

Enraged at this, the suitor swore revenge ; and pos- 
sessing power and influence over a barbarous race, he 
succeeded, by bribes and treachery, in accomplishing his 
fell design. 

The lord of the castle, his daughter and attendants, all 
fell victims ; and the mighty structure, touched by the 
devastating fingers of Time, at last became a heap of 
ruins. 

Such is a brief outline of the tradition, which I give 
for the benefit of future romancers. 

As we entered this ancient retreat, the bright sun of 
a hot July day was just beginning to dip below the line 
of the western horizon ; and his yellow light, streaming 
along the surface of the meandering waters, gave them 
the appearance of a long stream of molten, quivering 
gold. 

Everything in and about the place seemed to possess 
the charm of enchantment. Beautiful and merry song- 
sters, of all hues, warbled sweet tunes among the 
branches of the trees, or amid the tall grass and flowers 


CAMjP stoj^ies and the attack. 


313 


beneath them.^ Here and there small animals of the 
hare species might be seen running to and fro, while the 
waters of the rivulet occasionally displayed the shiny 
sides of a mountain trout. 

Take it all in all, to me the place seemed a second 
Eden ; and when I turned my eyes upon the old ruins, 
my imagination at once carried me far back into the 
dark ages of the past, and the strange tales I had heard 
seemed literally enacting before me. 

“ Thar’s been a heap o’ blood spilt here-a-ways, take 
one time with another,” observed Black George, as, with 
our pipes in our mouths, we sat around the camp-fire in 
the evening. 

“ Faith, and it’s mesilf, now,” said Teddy, “thatiid 
be afther saeing the spot as hasn’t been likewise, in this 
haythen part of Christendom ” 

“Oui, Monsieur Teddy,” rejoined the Frenchman. 

Ha ! ha ! by gar sacre ! dat pe ver nice spoke — ver 
nice. You sail make von moche grande — vot you call 
him — oratore, eh ?” 

“ But tell us what you know,” said I, addressing the 
old trapper, whom I was anxious to draw out in one of 
his marvelous tales. 

“ Well, hoss. I’ll gin ye the gist of a spree I once had 
here, ef Teddy’ll agree to tell a story when I’m done.” 

“ What say you, Teddy ?” 

“ Och, now, it’s not me mother’s child as was iver blist 
wid the gift o’ gab ; but to make the time slip off asy. I’ll 
do me trying of it, rather thin lose that of Misther Black 
George, barring that I’d lose what I niver had, and that 
ud be lost twice, d’ye mind !” 

/‘As how, Teddy?” 

“Why, your honor, and sure wouldn’t I lose the 
hearing the story towld, and the story itsilf besides ? 
and troth, wouldn’t that be two ? and isn’t two twice, 
now ?” 

“ Very good for you ; but come, George, go on with 
the tale !” 

Here the old mountaineer took out his pipe, knocked 
out the ashes, put some of the weed into his mouth, and, 
14 


314 CAAfP STORIES AND THE ATTACK. 


after twisting and turning himself into a comfortable 
position, thus began : 

“ Thar’s none o’ ye here, I s’pect, as knowed Ben 
Bose ; and the more’s the pity ; for Ben was a screamer, 
he was, right out and out. He could eat more buffler 
meat, drink more whisky, chawr more ’bacca, cuss 
louder, and tell bigger lies, nor any white nigger this 
coon ever seed — and that’s a dog-gone fact ! Mayhap 
you think as how I exaggertate ; but I ken jest prove all 
I’ve said, and more too. Why, I’ve seed Ben, afore now, 
when his meat bag war right smart empty, chawr up half 
a buffler, all wet down with about two gallon o’ whisky, 
and then sw’ar, till all the trees round him ud git the 
ager, that ef he didn’t git so’thin- to eat soon he’d hev to 
go a wolfin’ with starvation. And as for lyin’ — oh, he 
could tell sich lies, could Ben, and sw’ar to ’em so par- 
fict, that though you knowed all the time they was lies, 
you’d sort o’ b’lieve ’em, and wouldn’t care to do nothin’ 
else ; for you’d kind o’ say to yourself, ef they ain’t facts 
they ort to be, and that’s the same thing. Why Ben 
used to tell sich almighty lies, and stick to ’em so long, 
that he’d git to believin’ ’em himself, he would — and 
then he’d quit ’em ; for he war never knowed to tell 
anything as he suspicioned bein’ true ef he could help it. 
The only time this child ever hearn him tell a fact, was 
onc’t in a joke, when he said he was the biggest liar on 
'arth ; but he made up for that right sudden, by swearin’ 
the next minnet he’d never told a lie in his life. 

“But whar am I gittin’ to? Wall, ye see by this 
that Ben was one of the boys, he was, and nothin’ else. 
Poor feller ! he went under at last like a sojer. He gin 
in the pint right out thar-a-ways, whar ye see the light 
shinin’ on that big tree.” 

“ Ah ! then he died here ?” 

“Wall, he did,” said the old trapper, with a sigh; 
“ but he died game, and that’s so’thin’. It’s how he went 
out I’m goin’ to ’lighten ye ; but I’m goin’ to make the 
story short ; for somehow these here old by-gones makes 
me feel watery like, and I never had much incline for 
water, no how. Augh ! 

“ Ben was purty much of a gentleman, any how ; and 


CAMP STORIES AND THE ATTACK. 315 


me and him, when we’d meet, used to come together like 
two pieces of wax, and stick to each other like darnation, 
ef not more. The last time I ever seed Ben, I got on his 
‘ run’ just back here a few mile. He was jest makin’ his 
tracks out from Taos, and this coon war jest crossin’ over 
from Bent’s Fort. Me and him had two muleys apiece, 
and was both goin’ out alone, and happ’d to meet jest 
whar two trails jine. 

“ ‘ How is ye ?’ sez he, * and whar bound ?’ 

“‘Why, I’m some,’ I sez back ag’in, ‘and out for a 
ventur’.’ 

“ ‘Jest from Bent’s?’ 

“ ‘Nowhar else, hoss.’ 

“ ‘ I’m from Taos. Let’s splice and double the game. 
Augh !’ 

“ So we jined in, and went talkin’ ’bout this thing and 
that, and trying which could outlie t’other, till we got to 
this here valley and camped.” 

“ ‘ What d’ye think o’ this place, anyhow ?’ sez he. 

“ ‘ I reckon it’s a few,’ sez I. 

“ ‘ D’ye ever see any ghosts here ?’ sez he. 

“ ‘ Nary a ghost, hoss !’ sez I. 

“ ‘ I hev,’ sez he. ‘ I was campin’ here one night, 
and had jest got ready to blind my daylights, when I 
happ’d to cast one over thar to that old castle, and may I 
be sot down for a liar ef I didn’t see a live ghost standin’ 
right on that big pile, all dressed in white, and lookin’ 
orful serious right at me. At fust I tried to think it a 
opterkal collusion,’ sez he ; ‘ but then I knowed right olf 
that ef I didn’t see that I didn’t see nothin’ ; and if I 
didn’t see nothin’, what in blazes did I see ? Wall, arter 
squintin’ at it,’ sez he, ‘ till my eye-kivers got so heavy I 
had to put splinters under ’em to prop ’em up, I riz up 
on to my travelin’ pins, and sot out on a explore, to see 
ef ’twas the ghost of a white man or Injin. On that,’ sez 
he, ‘ the ghost got miffed, and, makin’ jest one step, stood 
light plum beside me. ’ 

“ ‘ Ben Bose,’ sez the ghost, ‘ I want you.’ 

“ ‘And so does Old Nick,’ sez Ben. 

“ ‘ Well, I’m him,’ sez the ghost ; and at that Ben sez 


3i6 camp stories AND THE ATTACK, 


the thing jest turned black in the face, and looked orful 
skeerful. 

“ ‘ Hadn’t you better wait till I git ready ?’ axed Ben. 

“‘No,’ sez the old chap, ‘I want you now;’ and at 
that Ben sez he took hold on him, and his fingers felt hot 
as burnt pitch. 

“ ‘ Wall,’ sez Ben, ‘ I jest clinched into him, and sich 
a tussle you never seed. Fust me and then Brimstone, 
and then Brimstone and me, for two mortal hours. But, 
by hokey, I licked !’ sez Ben; ‘and the feller mosied with 
a flea in his ear, and his tail hangin’ down like a licked 
puppy’s.’ 

“ Now, boys,” continued Black George, “as I’ve said 
afore, Ben was the all-firedest liar on ’arth, or else I 
mought a b’lieved so’thin’ o’ this ; for he hadn’t but jest 
done spinnin’ it, when bang, bang, bang — whizz, whizz, 
whizz — yehup! yeaho! whirp! come ringin’ in our ears, 
as ef the ’arth was all alive with shootin’ Injins — and 
that’s a scripter, dog-gone fact, as I’m a gentleman ! 
(Somebody gin me a chawr ! — augh!) 

“‘ Oh, the infarnals !’ sez Ben, jumpin’ up and showin’ 
blood on his noddle. ‘ I’m dead meat, sartin. But 1*11 
hev company along,’ sez he ; and he ups and blazes 
away, and throwed the nigh one, as was cornin’ up, 
right purty. 

“‘ Two on ’em,’ sez I, ‘for a pint;’ and old Sweetlove 
gin the second one the double-up, instanter. 

“ ‘ Now, let’s dodge,’ sez Ben, ‘ and keep our ha’r;’ and 
with that he grabbed hold o’ me, and both on us put out 
for the hills. 

“ But Ben ud got a settler, and felt top-heavy. He 
traveled ’bout fifty yard, with my arm in hisn, and five 
yellin’ devils close behind us ; and then he pitched on to 
me, and said he’d got to quit, and axed me to lift his 
ha’r* and keep it from the cussed Injins. I hated to do 
it like darnation — but thar wasn’t no help. Ef I didn’t, 
the skunks would ; and so I outs with my butcher, and 
off come his sculp afore you could say beans. 

“ ‘ Thankee,’ sez Ben. ‘ Good-bye, old boss, and put 
out, or you’ll lose two on ’em.’ 

* Take his scalp. 


CAMP STORIES AND THE ATTACK. 317 


“ I knowed he war right ; and though I hated to quit,' 
I seed thar was no help, and I started for the old castle 
yonder, fodderin’ Sweetlove as I went. I hadn’t got fur,, 
when I knowed by the yell the rascals had come up to 
him. They ’spected to make a raise thar, and two stopped 
for his fur, and the rest followed me. Ben was cunnin’ 
though, and they didn’t never tell what happ’d — them 
fellers didn’t — I’ll be dog-gone ef they did ! Ben kind o’ 
played possum, and they thought he was gone under ; and 
so, while they was foolin’ thar time, Ben had his eye 
skinned, burnt his pups’* powder, and throwed both on 
’em cold right han’some, and then turned over and 
kicked the bucket hisself. I managed to plug another 
jest about then, and the other two scamps sot off in- 
stanter for a more sal-u-bri-ous clime — they did — and ef 
you’d only seed ’em streak it, you’d a thought lightnin’ 
warn’t no whar. 

“ Why, jest to tell the clean truth. I’ll be dog-gone ef 
they didn’t travel so fast that a streak o’ fire followed 
’em, and the animals as had been snoozin’ on thar way, 
waked up and looked out, and concluded the ’arth was 
burnin’ most conscimptiously, and so put out arter them 
same flyin’ humans. Fact, by Judas! and ef you don’t 
b’lieve it, you ken jest bile me for a persimmon and no 
questions axed.” 

“ Oh, of course,” said I, as Black George paused and 
looked around triumphantly, “ we all believe it, and I 
should like to see the man that would not.” 

Faith, now,” chimed in Teddy, tipping me the 
wink, “the man that wouldn’t belave all that asy, 
wouldn’t belave that the moon’s made o’ green cheese, 
nor that Metooselah (blissings on his name of scripter 
mimory !) was twice as big as a maating-house.” 

“ Ha ! ha ! ver fine !” chimed in the Frenchman, rub- 
bing his hands and giving a peculiar shrug. “ I am ver 
moche delight. I sail pelievehim till I pe von — vot you 
call him — gray beard, eh !” 

The other mountaineers laughed, winked at one an- 
other, but made no reply ; and Black George resumed, 
with all the gravity of a parson : 

* Pistols, 


8 CAMP STOP/PS AND THE ATTACK. 


3 ^ 


“Wall, sence you b’lieve it, I don’t see no use as I’ll 
hev to prove it, and that’s so’thin’ gained. Wall, when 
I seed the field was cl’ar, I jest mosied back to Ben, to 
see how he’d come out, for then I didn’t know. I shuf- 
fled up to him, and thar I seed the varmints lyin’ by his 
side, clean meat and nothin’ else, and Ben Bose as dead 
nor a biled kitten. I felt kind o’ orful for a while, and 
had to play the squaw a leetle, jest for old acquaintance’s 
sake. 

“ When I’d rubbed the water out o’ my spy-glasses, I 
sot to work, dug a hole, and kivered Ben over decent, at 
least a foot below wolf-smell. Then I went a ha’r raisin’, 
and lifted all the skunks’ top-knots, took all thar muskets 
and powder, and sot down to my lone camp-fire, feelin’ as 
used up and womanish as ef I’d shuk with the ager a 
month. The only feel-good I had that night, was bearin’ 
the infarnal wolves tearin’ the meat off o’ them dirty 
scamps’ bones. 

“The next mornin’ I sot on ag’in, and took on Ben’s 
muleys, and it was a purty considerable time afore I made 
another trail in this here valley. Thar, you’ve got the 
meat o’ the story, and I’m done — augh !” 

Though more familiar with mountain life and all its 
rough scenes than when I first heard the old trapper re- 
late his adventures, yet the tale he had just told, in his 
rude, off-hand way, produced many painful feelings. 

The story, in the main, I believed to be true — at least 
that part which related to the death of the trapper — and 
I could not avoid some very unpleasant reflections. 

Who was Ben Bose ? and how came he here ? Had 
he any near and dear relatives ? Ay, perchance he had 
a mother — a sister — who knows but a wife and children ? 
— all of whom loved him with a pure affection. He had 
been driven, it might be, by the stern arm of necessity, to 
gain a living for himself and them among the wild fast- 
nesses of the mountains. He had toiled and struggled, 
perhaps braved dangers and hardships, with the bright 
hope of one day returning to them, to part no more in 
life. 

And they, all ignorant of his untimely fate, had pos- 
sibly been — nay, might be now — anxiously looking for 


CAMP STORIES A AW THE ATTACK. 


319 


his return. Alas, if so, they must forever look in vain ! 

; No news of him, perhaps, would ever reach their ears — 
and certainly no Ben Bose would ever again appear. 
Should they venture, however, to make inquiry among 
, the trappers who had known him, what painful tidings 
would the common brief rejoinders, “ he’s gone under,” 
I or “ been rubbed out,” convey to them, and how lacerate 
their sinking hearts ! Poor fellow ! Here he slept his 
last sleep, unheeding and unheeded, his memory forgot- 
ten, or recalled only on an occasion like this as a fire-side 
pastime. 

Alas,” sighed I, what an unenviable fate ! and how 
many hundred poor human beings like him are doomed 
to share it !” 

I was recalled from my ruminations by hearing clam- 
ors for a story from Teddy, who, now that Black George 
had told his, seemed but little inclined to favor us. 

“ Remember your promise,” said I, joining in with the 
others. 

“ Faith,” answered Teddy, resorting to his peculiar 
habit, when puzzled or perplexed, of scratching his 
head ; “ faith, now, gintlcmen, if ye’ll allow a poor body 
like mesilf to obsarve, it’s me mother’s own son as is 
thinking it’s a mighty tight fix I’m in. Troth, ye axes 
me for a story, and it’s hardly one that mesilf knows to 
tell yees ! Och ! I have it now !” he exclaimed, his eyes 
brightening with a sudden thought ; “ I have it now, 
claan at me fingers’ inds ! I’ll tell yees how I corned to 
lave ould Ireland — the swaat land o’ murphies and mur- 
thering fine ladies — bliss their angel sowls, ivery baastly 
one on ’em ! barring the baastly part, now, which I only 
mintioned by way of smoothing the sintence.” 

‘^Yes, yes, give us the yarn,” cried a voice; “and 
don’t spin it too long, for it’s gittin’ late.” 

“Ay, Teddy,” I added, “I think that will do — only 
make it short.” 

By gar,” rejoined Pierre, having recourse to his box, 
“ I think so. Monsieur. Cut him off so — von, two, tree 
feets — and zen him be von ver exsalient good, eh.? Je le 
crois,” 

“ Will, ye sae, thin, gintlemen,” resumed Teddy, “to 


320 CAMJP STORIES AND THE ATTACK, 


begin at the beginning, as Father Murphy used to say 
whin he wint to carve a chicken tail foremost, I was born 
in ould Ireland, not a thousand miles from Cor-r-k, 
iayther ways. Me father (pace to his ashes, barring I 
niver saan the proof that he was me father, and there was 
dispute about it), was a gintleman laborer, as had plenty 
to do all his life and little to ate. He loved whisky, the 
ould chap, spaking riverintly ; and one, day he took it 
into his head to die, by token as he said there wasn’t air 
enough for iverybody to brathe, and he’d jist sacrifice 
himself a marthyr for the good of others. 

“Will, me mother, she became a widdy in coorse, and 
took on mighty bad about her Saint Denis, as she called 
me dead father — though it’s little of a saint as she 
thought him whin living — and so, to drown her sorrow, 
she took to the bothel too, and soon after died spaachless, 
calling for wather, wather, the ounly time I’d iver heerd 
her mintion it, and by token o’ that I knowed she was 
uncanny. 

“ Will, gintlemen, ye sae, by raason of both me 
parents dying, I was lift a hilpless infant orphan of four- 
teen, widout father or mother, or a shilling in me pocket, 
or a divil of a pocket in me coat, barring that it wasn’t a 
coat at all, at all, ounly rags sowed thegither, jist. Me 
father’s and mother’s estate comprehinded ounly a bed, 
some pots and kithles, two broken stools, and a table as 
had its legs cut off for kindling wood. So, ye sae, that 
was soon sittled ; and thin I was lift a poor, houseless 
wanderer, widout a place to go to, or a relation in the 
wide wor-r-ld, barring three brothers as was away, an 
uncle, two aunts, and about a dozen cousins, all poorer 
nor mesilf. Will, I took to crying for a living, and a 
mighty nice time I had on’t, till one day Father Murphy 
come along and axed me would I like to come and live 
wid him. Faith, now, an’ maybe it wasn’t long saying 
yis I was. 

“ Now’s you’re afther having a short story. I’ll skip 
over four years, and till yees what turned up thin, by way 
of variety. 

“ The praast. Father Murphy, ye sae, had a beauthiful 
niece, as was jist me age, barring that she was a couple 


CAMP STOP/PS AND THE ATTACK, 321 


o’ years younger. Now ye must know I iver had a fond- 
ness for the famale sex, and I kind o’ took to liking 
Kathleen by raason of natheral instinct. And Kathleen, 
the darling ! she sort o’ took to liking me betimes — more 
by token I was a dacent body, and she hadn’t iny one 
bether to like ; and so, betwaan us, we both thought 
about each other waking, and dramed about ’em in our 
slaap. Now divil a word did the praast know of it, at 
all, at all, and that was all the bether for the pair of us. 

“ At last I got to making love to her, and tilling her 
she was too swaat a being to be living all alone by her- 
silf jist ; and that if her poor parints should be took 
away, like mine was, and she become a poor orphan like 
mesilf, what would she be afther doing for a protictor, 
and all thim things ? She cried, she did, and she 
sez : 

“ ‘Teddy,’ sez she, ‘what would become o’ me?’ 

“‘It’s not knowing,’ I sez, ‘and it’s a mighty har-r-d 
thing to go by guess work on sich occasions.’ 

“ At that she cried the more, by token her inner faal- 
ings was touched, and axed me would I conthrive a way 
to git her out o’ her throubles. 

“ ‘ Ah, faith,’ sez I, all of a sudden, ‘ I have it now !’ 

“ ‘ What is, Teddy, dear !’ sez she. 

‘“Och! come to your Teddy’s arms, and he’ll be 
father, and mother, and victuals and drink to yees, my 
own swaat Kathleen !’ I sez. 

“Ah, the darling!’’ pursued Teddy — “ blissings on 
her sowl, be it where it will ! and pace to her ashes, if 
she’s dead, which I’m not knowing, and hoping conthra- 
wise — she fill right into me arms, and comminced crying 
jist like wather dripping through a sieve. And thin, 
ye sae, I cried too, more by token o’ saaing her cry than 
that I felt bad like, at all, jist. Will, I wiped me eyes 
wid me sleeve, and had jist begun to say comfortable 
things to her, whin who should happen along but the 
praast, her uncle I 

“ ‘ Och, ye spalpeen ! and what is it ye’re at there, ye 
villain ?’ sez he. 

“ At this Kathleen give an awful scraam, and rin for 
the house, laving me alone to fight the mather out. I 
14* 


322 CAMP STOP IPS AND THE ATTACK. 


lilt mighty small jist thin, ye’d better belave, and wished 
wid all me heart an arthquake would open and swaller 
the pair of us. 

“ I saan the praast was in a dangerous timper, and I 
knowed something was coming, asy as squaaling to a 
pig. But ril not provoke his riverince, I sez to mesilf, 
or he’ll jist murther me outright, widout judge or 
jury. 

“ ‘ Who are ye ?’ sez he, coming up and taking me by 
the collar of me coat, barring that me coat had no collar, 
and I stood in me shirt sleeves, jist. ‘ Who are ye ?’ sez 
he; and thin he shook me till me teeth rattled. 

“‘I’m Teddy O’Lagherty, your riverince,’ sez I. 

“ ‘ Ye’re a baastly dog !’ sez he. 

“ ‘ Troth, and so was me father before me,’ sez I ; ‘ and 
hisn before that ;’ for I wanted to plase him. 

“ ‘ Ye’re a blaggard !’ sez he. 

“ ‘That comes by nathur,’ sez I. 

“ ‘ Ye’re a scoundrel — a villain — a maan, contimptible 
spalpeen !’ sez he. 

“ ‘ Sure, and that comes by associations,’ sez I. 

“ At this Father Murphy got as rid in the face as a 
baat, and I thought he would swaller me widout cooking 
or buther. 

“ ‘ What was yees adoing here wid Kathleen ?’ sez 
he. 

“ ‘ Loving her, your riverince,’ sez I. 

“ ‘ And how dare you love sich as she ?’ sez he. 

“ ‘ Troth, and I’m thinking her as good as mesilf, 
your riverince,’ I sez. 

“ At that I thought he’d choke himsilf, he held his 
grip so tight upon his own throat. Jabers ! but it was 
rejoicing I was that it wasn’t mesilf’s he fingered that 
a ways. 

“‘ Teddy,’ sez he, afther a bit, and spaking more calm 
like, though I knowed the divil was behind it all : 
‘Teddy, I’m goin’ to have yees whipped to death, and 
thin sint away for a baastly vagabone, to arn yees own 
living in the cowld world !’ sez he. 

“‘Jist as plases your riverince,’ sez I. ‘ But, sure. 


CAMjP stories and the attack. 323 


ye’ll be afther knowing I’ve done many worse things 
than love the swaat Kathleen, blissings on her sowl !’ 

“‘And do ye raaly love her?’ sez he, in a softher 
voice. 

“ ‘ Och, your riveri nee, and is it mesilf as loves good 
eatables, now ?’ 

“ ‘Will, thin,’ sez he, ‘for the sake of me niece, as is 
the apple o’ me eye. I’ll pardon yees, on one condition.’ 

“ ‘ And, sure, what might that be, your riverince ?’ 
sez I. 

“ ‘ That ye’ll lave the counthry, and niver come into 
it agin,’ sez he. 

“ ‘ What,’ sez I, faaling me anger rising, ‘ and lave 
darling Kathleen all alone by hersilf, widout a pro- 
tictor ! Be jabers. Father Murphy, it’s me own mother’s 
son as ud sae me own head cut off first, and thin I 
wouldn’t.’ 

“‘What!’ sez he, gitting his dander riz agin; ‘and 
does yees dare to talk that a ways to me, as has raised 
yees from poverty to be me own sarving man, and gin ye 
the bist of ivery thing as was lift whin we and the pigs 
had all done ? Say that to me face, as has been a father 
to yees, ye ungrateful varlet ? I’ll have yees horse- 
whipped out of town, so I will !’ 

“ ‘And if ye does,’ sez I, ‘ I’ll staal around and rin off 
wid Kathleen, as sure’s me name’s Teddy O’Lagherty, 
and Dennis O’Lagherty was me father’ — which wasn’t so 
sure, d’ye mind ! but Father Murphy didn’t know that. 

“This put him to thinking agin ; and afther a bit he 
sez, quite amiable like : 

“ ‘ An’ sure you wouldn’t be afther doing that, now, to 
one as has trated ye iver wid sich respict, Misther 
O’l.agherty ?’ sez he. 

“ ‘ Howly Moses !’ thinks I ; ‘what’s a coming now^ ? 
Ayther a mighty sto-r-m, or sunshine, sure — for I’d niver 
hearn the praast spaak that ways afore. 

“ ‘ Misther O’Lagherty,’ sez he, agin, ‘ I love ye.’ 

“ ‘ Faith,’ sez I, ‘ and it’s glad I am to hear the likes, 
more by raason ye niver showed the faaling at all, at all.’ 

“ ‘ Will, ye think of gitting Kathleen — but it’s all in 
your eye,’ sez he. ‘ She don’t care for ye, me son !’ 


3^4 CAMP STOP/PS AND THE ATTACK. 


“ ‘ That’s a lie !’ sez I — ‘ begging your riverince’s par- 
don for spaaking plain Inglish !’ 

“ Father Murphy bit his lips, and his two eyes looked 
jist like fire-balls, they did. 

“ ‘ Will,’ sez he; sez Father Murphy, ‘ we’ll let that 
pass : but she can niver be yourn, Teddy, by raason of 
her being bargained to another.’ 

“ ‘ That alters the case,’ sez I. 

‘‘ ‘ It does,’ sez he. ‘Now, ye sae, me son, ye can’t 
make nothing by staying round here — not a bit of it — 
and as I maan to do the gintaal by yees. I’d like to be 
knowing what ye’d ax to lave the counthry, and have the 
money down ?’ 

“ ‘ And, sure, where’d I go ?’ sez I. 

“ * To Amirica,’ sez he. 

“ Will, I’dal’ays hearn of Amirica — and what a blissed 
counthry it was for liberty, ladies and poor folks — and 
the notion plazed me ; and besides, I knowed what the 
praast said about my niver gitting Kathleen was thrue. 
So I thinks it over a wee bit, and sez : 

“ ‘ Why, Father Murphy,’ sez I, ‘saaing it’s you, and 
you’re a gintleman I respict. I’ll go, if ye’ll give me 
dacent clothes, pay me passage out, and five pounds to 
dhrink your riverince’s health.’ 

“ He wanted to baat me down ; but I saan I had him, 
and I swore divil a step would I stir widout he’d do my 
axing. At last sez he : 

“ ‘ Teddy, I’ll do it, if ye’ll agree to start right off, and 
niver sae Kathleen agin — otherwise I won’t.’ 

“ ‘ It’s har-r-rd, so it is,’ sez I ; but I was afeard he’d 
back out if I didn’t accept soon, and so I towld him, ‘ It’s 
a bargain, your riverince.’ 

“ ‘ Stay a minnet, thin,’ sez he ; and he rin into the 
house and brought me out ten sovereigns. ‘These’ll pay 
everything,’ sez he ; ‘ and so lave now, and niver show 
your dirthy face here agin, or I’ll have yees up for 
staaling.’ 

“ ‘ Troth,’ sez I, feeling like a lord, wid me hands on 
the goold, ‘ it’s not throubled wid me ye’ll be agin soon ! 
The top o’ the morning to your riverince !’ and so I left 
him. 


A FIGHT WITH INDIANS. 


325 


“ Will, to wind up, I corned to Amirica, and spint all 
me fortune, and then wint to work and earned more 
money, and thin wint thraveling to sae what I could find, 
whin, blissings on me luck (turning to me), I fill into 
your honor’s sarvice, for which good bit of accident I’m 
mighty glad now ! That’s me story.” 

At the moment Teddy concluded, and ere a single 
comment or remark had escaped our lips, a frightful vol- 
ley of musket balls flew round us like hail ; and one of 
our party, springing up with a yell, fell back a corpse. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

DESPERATE FIGHT WITH INDIANS. 

NDIANS !” was the simultaneous cry which 
burst from our lips, as each man grasped 
his rifle and sprung to his feet. 

“Tree, boys!” cried Black George, just 
as a series of terrific yells resounded on all 
sides, and a host of dusky figures were seen bearing 
down upon us from every direction but one, which 
seemed providentially left open for our safety. 

Toward this, the only point of compass possible for 
us to escape without a personal conflict, we fled pre- 
cipitately, and soon reached a small clump of trees, 
which afforded us immediate protection, leaving our 
dead comrade in possession of the savages. 

With yells of triumph a dozen of the latter rushed 
up to the unfortunate trapper, and one of the number 
instantly tore off his scalp, while several others buried 
their knives in his body to make sure of their victim. 

Meantime the rest of the party, which consisted of 
some thirty in all, made for our retreat, uttering 
demoniac yells of barbarous exultation, doubtless fancy- 
ing us an easy prey. 



326 


A FIGHT WITH INDIANS. 


“Now, boys,” cried Black George, in a stentorian 
voice, “every man pick a Injin, and guv the skunks 
thunder !” 

His advice did not need a repetition ; for scarcely 
were the words out of his mouth, when crack went our 
six rifles ; and, almost miraculous to record, six of the 
foremost assailants rolled howling in the dust — each 
man, by a friendly providence, having selected a separate 
target with a fatal aim. 

This was a result as unlooked for by us as alarming 
to our foes, who suddenly halted and rent the air 
with howls of rage and dismay. 

While it staggered them, it gave us courage, and 
in the mon^ent of their indecision and our triumph the 
voice of Black George was heard shouting the inspirit- 
ing words : 

“ Wall done, boys ! Foller me, and let us bark our 
pups and butcher at close quarters !” 

Saying this, he sprung forward with a yell, a pro- 
ceeding we all imitated ; and before the astonished 
savages were fully aware of what was taking place, they 
found us in their midst, shouting, shooting and cutting, 
with a daring, activity and ferocity they had probably 
never seen equaled. 

So suddenly had we become assailants in turn, and 
so vigorously did we press upon them, that they instantly 
wavered, became confused, and, after a slight resistance, 
took to flight, leaving four more of their number to 
keep company with the first unfortunate six. 

Being all more or less experienced in Indian warfare, 
we were consequently wise enough not to follow them, 
well knowing they would return to the charge as soon as 
pressed into cover. 

Both of Black George’s companions had been 
wounded in the me/ee^ but not dangerously, and we now 
congratulated ourselves with a triumphant shout on our 
success. 

“ Reckon they’ll stay put till we kin butcher and raise 
these here dogs’ ha’r,” said the old trapper ; and forth- 
with all set to work, save myself, in killing the wounded 
and scalping the slain. 


A FIGHT WITH INDIANS. 


327 


When this bloody business was over, Black George 
observed : 

“ This heyar coon wonders how the rascals feels now ! 
Mayhap they’ve got a notion in thar heads that they’re 
some in a bar- fight. Sarved ’em right, the blasted pos- 
sums! What business had they to be pitching into us, 
when we was tellin’ stories "and troublin’ nobody ! 
Augh !” 

“ By gar, I tink so !” added the Frenchman, as he 
gave his olfactory organ an extra dose and his shoulders 
an unusually vigorous shrug. “ Ha ! ha I Monsieur Blake 
Shorge — you say ver moche true — sarve him right. Cer- 
lainment, he got von most ver good exsallant — vot 
you call him — drubbing, eh 't Ha I ha ! certainment.” 

‘‘Och, now, but didn’t the blaggards look a wee bit 
astonished, the spalpeens !” joined in Teddy. “ Faith I 
but I thought whin they rin, maybe as it was a race they 
was rinning for whisky or the likes.” 

“ Weil,” said I, “ we have been fortunate so far, that 
is certain ; and now let us take care for the future. Load 
quick, my friends, and let us bring our animals together, 
or the Indians may rally and dash upon them and leave 
us in a bad condition.” 

“Right, boy !” cried Black George, with a start : “I’d 
forgot. What an old fool I is sometimes ! Quick ! or the 
skunks will head us — for I knows ’em of old.” 

Fortunately for us the Indians had not as yet made a 
seizure of our horses — (which, at the time of the attack, 
were quietly feeding in the valley, but were now running 
to and fro and snuffing the air) — thinking, I suppose, that 
victory for them was certain, and well knowing that an 
attempt to take the animals first would create an alarm 
and perhaps defeat their design of making us their 
victims. Our possibles, too, had escaped them, probably 
from being concealed under the brushwood collected 
for our fire, and also from their being put to flight so 
suddenly. 

All these were certainly matters for congratulation ; 
and hurriedly removing our property beyond the fire- 
light, I ordered Teddy and Pierre to guard it with their 


328 


A FIGHT WITH INDIANS. 


lives ; while the re,st of us, having reloaded our rifles, 
set off to collect our animals. 

We had not been any too soon in this matter ; for the 
Indians, having recovered from their first alarm and con- 
fusion, were now espied dodging from tree to tree, with 
the evident intention of getting between us and the 
beasts and capturing the latter. 

“ Heyar’s a fix,” observed Black George, making a 
halt. “ Ef we go for’ard the cussed varmints will pick 
us off and make meat on us ; and ef we stay here-a-ways, 
they’ll cotch our critters and leave us to foot it. I’ll be 
dog-gone ef it don’t look like a dilemmer, as I hearn a 
scholard say onc’t — that’s a fact.” 

It was a dilemma, sure enough, and how to act was a 
matter of great moment. We could not charge upon the 
savages as we had done before, for they had “treed” in 
every direction, and, as Black George observed, w’ould 
be sure to pick us off singly. To lose our animals was 
not to be thought of, for this would in a measure place 
us in their power. VVhat was to be done ? Several prop- 
ositions w’ere made by one and another, but all in turn 
rejected as being impracticable. 

Meantime the Indians were not inactive ; and though 
the night was without moon, w^e could occasionally per- 
ceive a figure flitting before us like a shadow, and the 
circle they had made around our horses gradually nar- 
rowing. It was a time for action of some kind, and yet 
w’e stood irresolute. 

At length the old trapper suggested that vre should 
separate, and each shift for himself in the manner best 
calculated to annoy our foes. This was the best plan as 
yet proposed, and was instantly adopted. 

We had already begun to put it into execution, when, 
to our astonishment, a small body of horsemen, with 
loud yells, suddenly dashed out from a distant thicket, 
and, separating, bore down upon the rear of our ene- 
mies. 

The next moment we heard the sharp crack of fire- 
arms, mingled with the shouts of the assailants, and 
yells of terror from the surprised Indians, who instantly 
took to flight in all directions. 


A FIGHT WITH INDIANS. 


329 

In their confusion a portion ran toward us, and were 
received by a well-directed volley, which wounded one, 
killed two, and increased the alarm of the survivors, who 
instantly changed their course and fled toward the west- 
ern hills, only to find their flight intercepted by an oc- 
casional horseman. 

“ Don’t know who fights for us,” cried Black George, 
“and don’t care a kick — but know they’s some — and so 
let’s arter ’em, and disconflumicate the infarnal skunks all 
we kin.” 

Saying this, the trapper set forward in eager chase of 
the flying foe, an example we all followed, and for the 
next quarter of an hour the valley presented an inde- 
scribable scene of confusion and excitement. 

Nothing of life could be seen but flying fugitives, 
hotly pursued by a bitter enemy, whose only mercy was 
instant death; and nothing heard but shrieks, yells, 
groans and shouts of triumph — these from victors, those 
from vanquished — together Avith the constant sharp crack 
of fire-arms, and the clashing of knives, as here and there 
two met in personal and deadly conflict. To use a mili- 
tary phrase, the rout was total, the enemy badly beaten, 
and the victorious skirmishers only withdrew from the 
field of conflict for want of a foe. 

During the melee Ave had all become mixed up ; and 
but for the distinguisiiing difference of color and equip- 
ments, AA^e might, OAving to the darkness, have made sad 
havoc with our best friends. 

But the neAv-comers Avere Avhites, and there AA^as no 
difficulty in distinguishing betAveen them and the sa\’'- 
ages. Who they were, and hoAV they had come here so 
opportunely for us, Avere enigmas I had no time nor op- 
portunity to solve till the affray aams over. Whoever 
they Avere, hoAvever, they Avere braA^e to a fault. — if I may 
call that courage a fault Avhich is reckless of self-preser- 
vation — and they fought like demons. 

One of their party, Avhom I took to be the leader, dis- 
played an agility, intrepidity and fierceness I had neA^er 
seen equaled but once. Mounted on a fiery steed, which 
seemed to comprehend his slightest Avish, he rushed 
among the frightened savages ; and tAvice, as he passed 


330 


A FIGHT WITH INDIANS. 


near me, did I observe him bend from his saddle, seize 
the scalp-lock of an Indian, and stab him in the neck, 
only slightly checking the speed of his horse. 

A long, loud shout at last attested our complete vic- 
tory ; when I, in company with my companions, 
approached our deliverers, to return our sincere thanks 
for their timely aid. 

Moving up to the personage I supposed to be the 
leader, who now sat quietly on his horse, surrounded by 
a dozen stalwart figures, all mounted, I said : 

“ Whom have I the honor to thank for this invaluable 
assistance at a point of time so critical to us ?” 

“ Why, as to thanks,” answered the one addressed, in 
a voice that seemed familiar to me, “I don’t ’spect thar’s 
any needed ; but ef you thank anybody, thank all — for 
every man’s done his duty, and nothing more.” 

“ I fancy I know your voice,” I rejoined, but I can- 
not see your features.” 

“Well, it struck me as I’d heard your’s afore,” re- 
turned the intrepid horseman ; and he bent forward in 
his saddle for a closer scrutiny of my person. 

At this moment Black George came up, and, casting 
one glance at the speaker, exclaimed : 

“ Kit Carson, or I’m a liar ! Reckon you knows old 
Black George, don’t ye?” and in an instant the two 
were shaking hands with the hearty familiarity of old 
friends. 

“ Kit Carson !” cried I, in surprise. “ Well, sir, I 
might have known it was you, from your manner of fight- 
ing and in turn I seized his hand with one of my 
strongest grips. 

“You have a leetle the advantage of me yet,” said 
Kit, when I had done. 

“I presume you have not forgotten Frank Leighton, 
and the fight at Bitter Cottonwood ?” I replied. 

“ Good heavens ! is it indeed you ? Why, I thought 
you war rubbed out thar, and I’ve never heard anything 
of you sence. I’m glad to see you, sir;” and an extra 
grip and shake of the hand convinced me he meant what 
he said. “ I’ll have a talk with you, by-and-by ; but just 


A FIGHT WITH INDIANS. 


331 


now we mountain men hev got a right smart chance at 
sculping — after which I’m at your service.” 

While most were occupied in the barbarous practice 
(1 can never call it by a milder term), of scalping the 
slain, I called Teddy, Pierre and one or two others to my 
aid, and proceeded to collect and picket the frightened 
animals. 

This was no easy task, and it was at least an hour be- 
fore order and quiet were again restored. 

In the meantime the Indians were scalped and rifled 
of everything valuable, and then left to feed the wolves, 
some of which had already begun their feast, and were 
fast being joined by others. 

Of the slain, we counted in all twenty-three carcasses ; 
so that it was evident that only a few, perhaps only five 
or six, escaped, and these doubtless more or less 
wounded. Of my party, not one was injured in this last 
affray ; but several of the horsemen had received cuts and 
stabs, though none of a dangerous character. 

When w’e had all collected around the camp-fire, the 
wounded were looked to, and their wounds dressed as 
well as circumstances would allow. 

This done, we proceeded to bury the mountaineer, who 
had been killed, as the reader will remember, at the on- 
set. 

As soon as all these matters were arranged, we 
squatted down in a circle round the fire, to talk over the 
events of the last two hours. 

I now had an opportunity of conversing with Carson, 
which I eagerly embraced. I informed him, in brief, of 
all that had occurred since we last met, and listened to 
a hasty recital of his own adventures, the principal part 
of which referred to Fremont’s first expedition, and is 
already before the public. 

He said that, after parting with Fremont, he had 
been engaged to conduct a party to California, and was 
on his return to St. Louis, by way of Uintah Fort, St. 
Vrains, and Fort Laramie, when, stopping at the first 
mentioned, he found the present party of adventurers 
anxious to obtain a guide to Taos, and thence to Santa 
Fe, and that they had induced him to accompany them 


332 


A FIGHT WITH INDIANS. 


as far as Taos. He said they had been on our trail for 
some time, but had not come in sight of us until the 
present evening, when, camping just the other side of 
one of the surrounding hills, he, in a short ramble, had 
accidentally discovered our camp-fire and had deter- 
mined on joining us in the morning. The attack on us 
by the Indians had been heard, and as soon as possible 
thereafter the whole party had come to our aid, with 
what result the reader knows. 

He further added that it was rumored that Fremont 
had begun his second expedition, and was even now on 
his route westward by way of Bent’s Fort — that he was 
anxious to join him — and that if an arrangement could 
be effected to do without him, he would in the morning 
cross over to the valley of the Arkansas and take a direct 
course for Bent’s. 

In answer to my inquiries concerning Prairie Flower 
and her tribe, he said he had not met with any of them 
since the battle of Bitter Cottonwood, but that he had 
heard of their being in this part of the country quite 
recently, and was inclined to believe them somewhere in 
the neighborhood of Taos at the present time. With 
regard to my friend, he expressed much sorr«.>w for his 
loss, but could give me no information concerning him. 

I was now more than ever anxious to find the 
Mysterious Tribe ; for something whispered me that 
Prairie Flower had been in search of my friend — or at 
least was now with her tribe on that errand — or, if 
neither of these surmises should prove correct, that I 
could perhaps prevail upon them to assist me. At all 
events I determined on finding them as soon as possible, 
and accordingly resolved to start at daylight and push 
through to Taos with all haste. 

Busy thoughts prevented me from sleeping on that 
eventful night, and at the first tinge of morning light I 
awoke my companions for the journey. 

As we all had one destination, the party of Carson 
consented to part with him and join mine ; and shaking 
my hand, with a hearty prayer for my success, he set 
off alone over the mountains, while we continued down 
the valley of the Rio Grande. 


GA/JV TIDINGS OF MY FRIEND, 


333 


CHAPTER XL. 

GAIN TIDINGS OF MY FRIEND. 


S our party was now quite formidable, we had 
no fears of again being attacked so long as 
we remained togetlier. 

On the fourth day from quitting the val- 
ley described in the previous chapter, we 
entered the small village of Taos. 

Here I found a collection of all nations and colors, 
consisting of trappers, hunters, traders, adventurers, and 
so forth. 

Mingling with all classes, I at once proceeded to 
make inquiries regarding the present whereabouts of the 
Great Medicine Tribe, and also if any had seen or heard 
of a certain young man (giving a full description of 
Huntly) being taken prisoner by the Indians or Mexi- 
cans. 

To my first inquiry, I received from several the an- 
swer, that a singular tribe of Indians, among whom was 
a beautiful female, had been seen in the vicinity within 
a few weeks ; but where they now were, or in what 
direction, none could tell. As to the latter, each replied, 
with a shake of the head, that he could tell me nothing. 
It was not an uncommon thing, they informed me, for a 
white man, an adventurer, to be taken, robbed, held for 
ransom, knocked on the head, or sold into slavery ; but 
no one remembered hearing of, or seeing, such a person 
as I described. 

To me this news produced great disappointment ; for, 
from some cause, which I cannot explain, I had been 
sanguine of getting information of Huntly so soon as I 
should arrive at Taos. Here, then, was a complete over- 
throw of my most ardent hopes ! and I now fek keenly 
the weakness of the foundation on which I had reared 
my expectations. I might pass a long life in a wearisome 



334 GA/JV TIDINGS OF MY FRIEND. 


and dangerous search, and yet be no wiser concerning 
Huntly’s fate at last. 

There was still a faint hope that Prairie Flower, who 
I doubted not had gone south with her tribe for this pur- 
pose, had gained some information of him ; and at once 
I determined on finding her, with the additional resolve, 
that, should my surmises prove correct, and she had failed 
also, to set out on my return forthwith. 

The day following my arrival in Taos, I was passing 
along one of the streets, pondering upon these matters, 
when I chanced to meet an old mountaineer, whom I did 
not remember having seen before. 

Determined to leave no stone unturned, I accosted 
him with the same inquiry I had made of the others. 

He stopped, looked at me attentively a moment, as if 
to comprehend my questions, and then, in a musing, 
half-soliloquizing manner, roplied : 

“ ’Bout the Injins, don’t know — think I’ve seed sich — 
won’t be sartin — don’t like to be sartin when I ain’t. 
Yes ! think I hev seed ’em — yes, know 1 hev — but it war 
two year ago, and away up north a thundering ways. 
Fact. ’Bout the other chap, don’t know — yes — no — stop 
— let me see — y-e-s, I reckon — ain’t sartin — what was he 
like ?” 

Here I proceeded to give a description of my friend, 
with what conflicting feelings of hope and fear I leave 
the reader to imagine. In fact my voice became so 
tremulous that several times I was forced to stop and put 
my hand to my throat to prevent as it were my heart 
from strangling me. 

“ Git cool, and jest say that thar over agin,” rejoined 
the other, when at length I tremblingly paused for his 
answer. 

I repeated it twice, before he seemed satisfied. 

“ Now,” said he, “ I’ll think — let me see !” and he de- 
liberately proceeded to take up each point of my descrip- 
tion, and apply it to some person he had seen, making 
his own comments as he went along. “ Slim and grace- 
ful — let me see ! — yes — no — y-e-s — rather reckon he was 
— know it — fact. ’Bout twenty-three — stop — let me 
think ! — yes — reckon he mought be — know he was — sar- 


GAIN TIDINGS OF MY FRIEND. 335 


tin. Good face — han'some featurs — stop — a — y-e-s — 
know it — settled.” 

Thus he went on until I found my patience com- 
pletely exhausted, and was about to interrupt him, when 
he suddenly exclaimed ; 

“ Seen him, stranger, sartin as life — know I has.” 

“ Where ? where ?” cried I, breathlessly, grasping his 
hand. 

“ San Domingo.” 

“When?” 

“ ’Bout a year ago !” 

“ God be thanked ! You are sure ?” 

“Sartin, or I’d never said it.” 

“Well ! well ! — what became of him?” 

“ It’s more’n I can say — s’pect he war made a slave. 
A rummy old Greaser had him, and wanted to sell or git 
him ransomed. He axed too high, and nobody traded. 
I pitied the poor feller, but I hadn’t no money, and thar 
warn’t no Yankees thar then to help me out in takin’ 
him. Old Greaser went sothe ; and some I axed shuk 
thar heads, and said that old scamp war a robber chief 
and had lots o’ help close by. All I know, stranger.” 

“ But do you think he is alive now ?” 

“Can’t say, ye see, ’cause don’t know. Never say 
what don’t know. Anything more to ax, stranger?” 

“ Nothing that you can answer,” I replied ; and thank- 
ing him kindly for his information, I placed a gold coin 
in his hand, and hurriedly left him, to seek out my com- 
panions — my spirits, so lately depressed, now buoyant 
and bounding. 

The party which had joined mine at the valley, had 
not yet quitted Taos ; and calling all together, I pro- 
ceeded to la3f before them my joyful intelligence. 

When I had done. Black George gave a shout, Teddy 
a whoop, Pierre shrugged his shoulders and doubled his 
dose of snuff, and every one expressed his delight in his 
own peculiar way. 

The Rovers — so our new companions termed them- 
selves — were nearly all young men from the States, who 
had come West more for adventure than speculation ; 
and as I had become a favorite with them in the short 


336 GAIN TIDINGS OF MY FRIEND, 


time of our acquaintance, they at once volunteered me 
their assistance — an offer which I accepted^ with tears of 
gratitude. 

Ordering out our animals, we mounted and set for- 
ward immediately, and, although the day was partly 
advanced, succeeded in reaching Santa Cruz about night- 
fall. 

By noon of the next day w^e rode into Santa Fe — a 
place of much importance and notoriety, from being 
centrally located on the great caravan route from Mis- 
souri to Southern California. 

At the time of which I write, Santa Fe contained 
some four or five thousand inhabitants, and was the em- 
porium of the Northern trade between New Mexico and 
Missouri. It was anything but an agreeable place, how- 
ever — its inhabitants being mostly made up of the off- 
scourings of the earth — without religion, morality, or any 
other noble quality. To gamble, steal, rob and murder, 
were among the refined amusements of this most worthy 
set. To make matters still worse, there had recently been 
some difficulty between the Mexicans and the citizens of 
the United States, and on both sides existed a bitter 
hostility, which was productive of the most violent 
crimes. It was dangerous for any one to traverse the 
streets alone, particularly after nightfall, for at every 
corner he turned he knew himself in danger of assassina- 
tion. The Indians here generally sided with the Mexi- 
cans, and looked upon all Yankees as their worst 
enemies. 

Such was the state of affairs at Santa Fe ou my ar- 
rival ; and the same inimical feeling, to a greater or less 
extent, prevailed in all the adjacent towns. 

As myself and party had no desire to •quarrel with 
any one, we took care to be civil, always together, well 
armed, and to mind our own business on all occasions, 
and in consequence we fortunately escaped without 
molestation. 

Making several inquiries in Santa Fe, and gaining 
nothing further of Huntly or the Mysterious Tribe, we 
pursued our course southward through Cinega to Sail 
Domingo. 


GA/JV TIDINGS OF MY FRIEND. 337 


Here the story of the old trapper was so far confirmed, 
that several persons remembered having seen the noto- 
rious robber, Gonzalez, in possession of a handsome young 
prisoner, whom he was anxious to dispose of, declaring 
he could not find it in his heart to kill him, and could 
not afford to part with him without recompense ; that no 
one there being disposed to purchase him, he had gone 
further south ; but as to what had since become of him 
none could afford me any information. 

In answer to my inquiry concerning Prairie Flower, 
I learned that some time ago she had been seen in this 
vicinity with her tribe — that she had made inquiries sim- 
ilar to mine, and that all had departed southward. 

This news almost made me frantic with joy. Huntly, 
I argued, was living ; Prairie Flower, like some kind 
angel, had gone to his rescue ; and it might be that even 
now he was free and enjoying her sweet companionship. 
The joyful thought, as I said, nearly drove me mad with 
excitement ; and all my olden hopes were not only re- 
vived, but increased by faith to certainties. 

Hurrying forward to San Bernilla, on the Rio 
Grande, I heard nearly the same tale as at San Do- 
mingo ; and following down the river to Torreon, I 
listened to its repetition — and at Valencia, Nutrias and 
Alamilla likewise. 

At Valverde, the next village below the last men- 
tioned, 1 could gain no intelligence whatever. 

This led me to think Gonzalez had disposed of his 
prisoner between the two villages — or, what was just as 
probable, had taken another course. 

For what I knew, he might have crossed the Rio 
Grande and struck off into the Sierra de los Mimbres — a 
mountain chain only a few miles to the west of us — 
whose lofty, snow-covered peaks rose heavenward to a 
vast height, and had been distinctly visible to us for sev- 
eral days. 

If he had taken this direction, the chances of tracing 
him successfully appeared much against us. 

It was equally as probable, too, he had gone east- 
ward — perhaps to Tabira — a small village some seventy 
miles distant. 

15 


338 GA/J\r TIDINGS OF MY FRIEND. 


But which course should we take ? 

Consulting my friends, we at length resolved to re- 
trace our steps to Alamilla, make inquiries of all we 
might meet on the way, and then, if we could gain no 
satisfactory information, to strike out for Tabira on a 
venture. 

This matter settled, we at once turned back ; but we 
had not proceeded far when we met a couple of Mexican 
hunters. 

As I understood a smattering of Spanish, I at once 
addressed them, and, in course of conversation, gained 
the joyful tidings that a prisoner, such as I described, 
had been purchased by a Mexican, living not more than 
three miles distant, and that in all probability we should 
find him there now. 

The path to his residence having been pointed out, 
I rewarded each of my informants with a gold coin ; and 
then, driving the spurs into our horses, in less than half 
an hour we reined them in before a small hacienda, much 
to the terror of the inmates, who believed we had come 
to rob and murder them. 

Assuring the proprietor, a rathex prepossessing 
Mexican, that in case he gave us truthful answers no 
harm should be done him — but that, being partially in- 
formed already, the slightest prevarication would cost 
him his tongue and ears, if not his head — I proceeded 
to question him. 

Thus forewarned, and much in fear of the execution 
of the threat, he gave straightforward replies, to the 
effect that more than a year ago Gonzalez had paid him 
a visit, and offered him an American at a small price, 
declaring that if he did not purchase he would knock the 
prisoner in the head without more ado, as he had cost 
him more time than he was worth ; that at first, he (the 
proprietor of the hacienda) had refused to buy, having 
as many slaves as he cared about ; but that something in 
the young man’s appearance, and the appeal he made 
with his eye, had touched his feelings, and the bargain 
had at length been struck. He further stated that the 
prisoner had not been treated like the rest of his slaves, 
but wjth more respect, and had behaved himself like a 


GAIN TIDINGS OF MY FRIEND. 


339 


! 

i gentleman and won his confidence. A short time ago, 

I he continued, a small tribe of Indians had called upon 
i him, and offered a ransom for the prisoner, stating he 
was an old acquaintance ; that he had accepted the offer, 
and the prisoner had departed with them, toward the 
north, in fine spirits. 

This was the substance of the information I gathered 
I here ; but it was enough to intoxicate me with joy, and 
was received by the rest of the party with three hearty 
cheers, much to the astonishment of the old Mexican, 
who did not comprehend what was meant. 

The prisoner was Huntly, there was no doubt of that, 

1 and the Great Medicine was the Indian tribe which had 
: set him free. 

The next thing was to go in quest of them. They had 
gone toward the north, and had had some time the start 
of us. It might be difficult to find them — but nothing, I 
fancied, in comparison with the task I had first under- 
taken of tracing out my friend. The Rovers agreed to 
accompany me as far as Santa Cruz, when, having seen 
me so far safe, they designed returning to Santa Fe. 

It is unnecessary for me to detail each day’s journey. 

Suffice, that in due time we arrived at Santa Cruz, 
where I parted from the Rovers, with many expressions 
of gratitude on my part, and heart-felt wishes for my 
success on theirs. 

My party was thus reduced to six ; and as two of the 
number preferred remaining here to going north im- 
mediately, I settled with them at once, still retaining 
Teddy, Pierre and Black George. 

With these I again set forward rapidly, making in- 
quiries of all I met. 

For two or three days I could get no tidings of the 
Mysterious Tribe, and I began to have doubts of being 
on the right course. 

Fortunately, before we had decided on changing our 
direction, we met a party of mountaineers, who informed 
us that a few weeks before they had seen a small 
tribe of friendly Indians, somewhere between the Spanish 
Peaks and Pueblo, among whom were a white man and 
a beautiful female half-breed ; that they were moving 


340 


THE JOYFUL MEETING. 


very leisurely toward the north ; and that in all prob- 
ability they were now encamped somewhere in the beau- 
tiful valley of the Arkansas. 

Elated with the most extravagant anticipations of 
soon realizing our sanguine hopes, we again pressed for- 
ward for two or three days ; and leaving the lofty 
Spanish Peaks to our right, tracing up the head waters 
of the Rio Mora, we struck off over the Green Moun- 
tains, and camped at last in the far-famed valley of the 
Arkansas, within full view of the eternally snow-crowned 
Pike’s Peak. 


CHAPTER XLI. 

THE JOYFUL MEETING WITH MY FRIEND. 

R two days after reaching the valley, our 
search proved fruitless, and the reader can 
better imagine my feelings than I can de- 
scribe them. 

My anxiety to see my long-lost friend was 
so great, that I could not rest at night, and barely devour 
enough food to support nature. 

A consultation had resulted in shaping our course 
up the river ; and on the third day we had the un 
bounded delight to meet with a couple of trappers, who 
informed us they had seen the Great Medicine Tribe only 
two days before, and that they were then encamped on 
a small creek, in a lovely valley, at the base of the south- 
western mountain chain, surrounding what is known as 
the South Park, not more than sixty or seventy miles 
distant. 

Never can I forget the feelings I experienced, nor 
the wild, prolonged, and deafening cheers which re- 
sounded at this announcement. Each of my companions 
seemed frantic with joy ; and as for myself, I could have 



THE JOYFUL MEETING. 


341 


clasped the informants, rough and half civilized as they 
were, to my beating heart. 

Becoming at last a little more tranquil, we managed 
to impress upon ourselves a brief description of the 
route to be taken, and then we set forward with the 
wildness of madmen just loosened from an insane 
asylum. 

On, on we dashed, over plain, heath and ridges, 
through thickets and streams, till the blowing and reel- 
ing of our animals warned us we must be more prudent, 
or their lives, at least, would be the penalty of our rasli- 
ness. 

Throughout that day nothing was thought of, nothing 
talked of, but our fortunate adventure, and the speedy 
prospect of gaining what we sought. Time, distance, 
everything, was everlooked ; and when the sun went 
down, it appeared to us that the day had been by half the 
shortest of the season. 

Very different was it with our horses, which were so 
exhausted from hard riding that serious fears were 
entertained lest we had ruined them. But a thorough 
rubbing down, and an hour or two of rest, revived them ; 
and we atdast had the satisfaction of seeing them crop 
the plentiful blade with their wonted gusto. 

I slept none that night — in fact did not even lie down 
— but most of the time paced the earth to and fro before 
the fire-light, anxiously praying for the dawn, to resume 
our journey. My companions, however, slept soundly ; 
for they had far less to think of than I, and moreover 
were sorely fatigued. 

At the first blush of morning I roused them, and again 
mounting we set forward. 

As both Pierre and Black George knew the country 
well, we lost no time by going out of the way, but took 
the nearest and safest course to the point described. 

A ride of four hours brought us to the brow of a hill, 
looking down upon a fertile valley, where, joy inex- 
pressible, we beheld a village of temporary lodges, and 
a few Indians, whom I instantly recognized as belonging 
to the anxiously-sought tribe. 

Hurray ! we’ve got ’em — I’ll be dog-gone ef we 


342 


THE JOYFUL MEETING. 


haint !” cried Black George. “ Hurray for us beavers, 
sez I ! and a quart on the feller as is last in ! ” 

Uttering yell after yell, as wild as those of savages, 
we spurred down the hill with reckless velocity, each 
one striving to lead the rest and be the first to reach the 
goal of our present desires. 

Had the tribe in question not been peaceably inclined, 
this proceeding would have been dangerous in the ex- 
treme, and a shower of rifle balls might have changed 
our joyous shouts to cries of pain and lamentation, or 
have put us beyond the pale of mortality. 

Our rapid and tumultuous approach alarmed our 
friends ; and men, women and children came running 
out of their huts, with fear depicted on their faces. 

Among them were two figures that fixed my atten- 
tion ; and trom that moment I saw nothing but Charles 
Huntly and Prairie Flower till my gallant beast stood 
panting in the center of the crowd. 

“Charles !” I gasped, as I leaped from my steed, my 
brain fairly reeling with intense emotion ; and, stagger- 
ing up to where he stood, bewildered and confused, I 
threw my arms around his neck and swooned in his em- 
brace. 

When consciousness again returned, I found myself 
lying on a mat in a small cabin, hastily constructed of 
sticks and skins, and my friend standing by me, chafing 
my temples, dashing cold water in my face, and entreat- 
ing me in the most piteous tones to arouse and speak to 
him. There were others around, but I heeded them not. 
1 had neither ears, nor eyes, for any but my friend. 

My first glance showed me that he was altered, but 
not more than I had expected to find him. His form was 
somewhat wasted, and his pale features displayed here 
and there a line of grief and suffering which I had never 
before seen. 

“Frank,” he cried, “for God’s sake, look up, and 
speak to me !” 

“ Charles !” I gasped. 

“Ha ! I hear it again — that dearly loved voice !” and 
burying his head upon my breast he wept aloud. 

In a few minutes I had completely recovered from my 


THE JOYFUL MEETING. 


343 


swoon ; but it was a long time before either of us could 
master his emotion sufficient to hold conversation. We 
looked at each other, pressed each other by the hand, 
mingled our tears together, and felt^ in this strange meet- 
ing, what no pen can describe, no language express. We 
had literally been dead to each other — we who had loved 
from childhood with that ardent love which cements two 
souls in o;ie — and now we had come to life, as it were, to 
feel more intensely our friendship for the long separa- 
tion. The excess of joy had nearly made us frantic, and 
taken away the power of speech. 

At last we became more tranquil, when our friends, 
who had been present, but almost unnoticed, withdrew 
and left us to ourselves. 

“ And now, Frank," said Huntly, looking me earnestly 
in the face, his eyes still dimmed with tears, “ tell me the 
news ? Have you been home ?" 

‘‘ I have not." 

“ Ah ! then I suppose you know nothing of our 
friends?" 

“ More than you imagine ;" and T turned away my 
head, and sighed at the thought of the mournful intelli- 
gence I was about to communicate. 

“ Ha ! what ?" demanded Huntly, with tremulous 
anxiety. “ Why do you avert your face ? Has — has any- 
thing — happened ?" 

“ Prepare yourself for the worst, dear Charles !" I re- 
plied, in a tremulous tone. 

“For the worst?" he repeated. “Great Heaven! 
what has happened ? Speak ! quick ! tell me ! for sus- 
pense at such times is hard to be borne ; and our imagina- 
tion, running wild with conjecture, tortures us, it may 
be, beyond the reality." 

“ In this case I think not." 

“ In Heaven’s name, speak !" he gasped, with the pal- 
lor of death. 

“ Promise me to be calm !" 

“ I will do my best." 

His whole frame fairly trembled with excitement, 
and his forehead became damp with cold perspiration. 

“ Your father, dear Charles — " I began. 


344 


THE JOYFUL MEETING. 


“Well? well?’' 

“ Is — is — no more. The sod has twice been green 
above him.” 

“Oh, gracious God!” he exclaimed, throwing his 
hands aloft, with a look of agony I shall never forget ; 
and then, covering his face, he groaned as one in the 
throes of death. 

For some time I did not disturb him, thinking it best 
to let his first grief take its course in silence. At length 
I said : 

“ Come, my dear friend, rouse up and be a man ! Do 
not give too much way to your sorrow ! Remember, 
that in this world we all have to die — that we are doomed 
by the immutable laws of nature, and the decrees of an 
over-ruling God, to part from those we most dearly 
love ! But it is only for a time. God is wise, and good, 
and does all things for the best ; and it is only a short 
time, at the longest, ere we in turn shall depart to join 
them in a life beyond the reach of death. Cheer up, 
dear Charles ! and look upon your father as one who has 
done with the cares and perplexities of life and made a 
happy change ! I know how dearly you loved him — I 
know the trial to give him up is most painful — and from 
my very soul I sympathize with you in your affliction. 
But, my dear friend, we have other duties than to bewail 
the dead ; for the living demand our attention ; and you 
have friends still left you, equally near and dear, who 
stand in need of your most iron energies.” 

“ Alas !” he groaned, his face still hid in his hands ; 
“dead! dead! dead! — and I — his only son — far, far 
away !” He paused, and trembled violently for a few 
moments, and his breath came quick and hard. “ But 
you are right, dear Frank !” he said at length, slowly 
raising his face, now sadly altered. “ You are right, my 
friend ! We know such things must, do, and will take 
place ; and we should, to what extent wc can, be philoso- 
phers all, and strive to be resigned to God’s will. It is 
terrible, though — terrible — to lose a beloved parent, and 
not be at hand to hear his parting words, nor see him set 
forth on that journey from whence none ever return ! 
But I — I — will strive to bear it — to at least appear calm. 


1 


THE JOYFUL MEETING. 


345 


I And now, dear Frank — my — my — I fear to mention 
I whom — lest I hear more painful, heart-rending tidings !” 

' “ You mean your mother and sister?” 

He grasped my arm nervously, partly averted his 
i head, as if in dread of my answer, and said, almost 
inaudibly : 

“ I do.” 

“ Be not alarmed, dear Charles ! I left them well.” 

“Left them well?” he repeated, in surprise. “Did 
; you not tell me you had not been home?” 

“True ! neither have I.” 

“ Then where did you see them ? and where are they 
now ?” 

“I will answer your last question first. They are now 
in Oregon City.” 

He gave me a deep, searching look, such as one would 
bestow upon a person whose sanity he had just begun to 
question. 

“I do not wonder you look surprised,” I added : “but 
listen ere you doubt and I proceeded to narrate, as 
briefly as I could, how I had met them near the South 
Pass of the Rocky Mountains, and under what singular 
circumstances ; how I had soon learned of their mis- 
fortunes, both in the loss of their dearest friend and their 
property — (which latter seemed to affect Charles less 
than I had expected) — how I had there met the Unknown, 
been warned of danger by Prairie Flower, and what had 
followed ; how I had subsequently accompanied the 
party to Oregon ; how I had proposed to Lilian, been 
accepted, and on what conditions ; and how I had at last 
been led to set off in search of my dearest friend, and 
what had happened on the journey. 

In short, I gave him condensed particulars of all that 
had occurred since our parting, not forgetting my night 
search for him and the effect of his loss upon me at Los 
Angelos. 

He listened attentively throughout, occasionally in- 
terrupting me with questions on points of more than 
usual interest, or where in my hasty narration I had 
failed to make the matter clear to him. 

“Strange! strasge !” he said, when I had done; 
15* 


346 


THE JOYFUL MEETING. 


“very, very strange is all this ! It looks improbable — 
seems impossible — and yet I do not doubt your word. 
So, then, I am not worth a dollar ?” 

“ Do not let that trouble you, Charles ! While I 
have money, neither you nor your friends shall want.” 

“ I know that. Frank,” he said, pressing my hand 
warmly ; “ I know that. That, at present, is the least of 
my concern. And so you have seen the Unknown ? and 
she is called Eva Mortimer?” He mused a moment, and 
added : “ Well, this is more singular than all ! Frank, 
we must set out for Oregon immediately.” 

“ As soon as you please. And now tell me something 
of your own adventures ?” 

“ Alas !” sighed he, “ after the painful news you have 
communicated, I feel myself unable to enter into particu- 
lars. I will give you something in brief, for I know 
your curiosity is excited. In fact, I will give you the 
outline of my story, and anon will fill it up with de- 
tail.” 

“ Proceed.” 

“At the tirne we separated to follow the wounded 
animal,” he began, “ I hurried around the foot of the 
mountain which you were ascending. In my haste I 
missed the path, and had spent some time in searching 
for it, when suddenly I found myself surrounded by half- 
a-dozen guerillas, who it seems were in waiting for the 
return of a larger party, momentarily expected, when all 
designed an attack upon some merchants coming in from 
Santa Fe. A single glance showed me resistance would 
be useless, and I surrendered myself a prisoner. They 
seized and began stripping me of everything valuable, 
when it occurred to me I could let you know my situa- 
tion, and I accordingly shouted, as if ^calling to a party 
of my friends. The next moment I was seized and 
gagged ; when the cowards — fearful I suppose that this 
precaution had been taken too late, (fora cheer from you 
was heard in answer,) and that they might be attacked 
soon if they remained where they were — began to sneak 
away, taking me with them. 

“ When they had rendered themselves safe, by pene- 
trating further into the mountains, they kept quiet till 


THE JOYFUL MEETING, 


347 


night, and then sallied forth to the rendezvous, where 
they joined the others, in all some twenty persons. 

“ A consultation was now held, as to whether I should 
be put to death or taken along and sold into slavery. 
The latter was finally adopted, and Gonzalez, the chief, 
took me under his charge. 

“ Taking the great Spanish Trail, w’e set off toward 
Santa Fe, traveling mostly in the night and lying by 
through the day, often in ambush for some unfortunate 
wayfarers, who, in the encounters that sometimes ensued, 
generally lost both money and life. 

“ My dear Frank, I could describe events which have 
passed before my own eyes that would make your hair 
stand with horror ; but as these are not necessary to my 
present story, I will omit them for the present. 

“ It was a strange fancy they had formed of selling 
me into slavery, and I could never rightly comprehend 
it. It could not have been for the amount I would bring 
— for that was small, in comparison to the trouble I must 
have cost them in guarding me from escape. Noil am 
inclined to think it the result of a whim — perhaps of the 
chief — who ever treated me with as much leniency as I 
could expect, or have dared to ask for. Still I was made 
to do menial services and used as a slave ; and it might 
have been that my life was preserved for this ; for save 
myself the party had no servant. Oh, how it made my 
blood boil at times, wdien I thought what I had been, and 
what I was ! and how I groaned in secret, to think what 
must be your feelings, and the feelings of my friends, 
should the latter ever hear of my fate ! But I still had 
hope ; I was still alive; and I struggled to bear up man- 
ful Iv, and be resigned to my lot till Providence should 
favor my escape. 

“The first hundred miles I was forced to proceed on 
foot — the robbers having no horses but what they rode 
themselves. Sometimes they traveled fast, obliging me 
to keep them company, and in consequence I suffered 
most severely. At last one of the band got killed in an 
affray, and his beast was assigned to me, which proved a 
great relief. 

“ One day the chief informed me that if I would take 


348 


THE yO YF UL M EE TING. 


the oath of his dictation, I might join the band and have 
my freedom — or rather, the freedom of a robber. I 
declined his offer, in language so decisive that he never 
after repeated the proposition, and I continued as before 
a slave. But I must avoid detail. 

“ At last we reached the Sierra de los Mimbres, where 
the band divided — the chief and a few followers taking 
me down to San Domingo, where I was offered for sale. 
Not meeting with success here, he continued down 
through the several villages, and, in short, to the very 
hacienda whither you and another (God bless you both !) 
traced me. Had he failed here in disposing of me to 
Pedro Lopez, I do believe he would have put an end to 
my existence. 

“ After much quibbling, the bargain was at last 
struck, and I became the property of Pedro Lopez. 

“ I shall now pass over the period of my slavery — the 
most unhappy one of my life. True, I was treated better 
than my companions, and, on the whole, suffered much 
less physically than mentally. But still I knew myself a 
slave — knew I was degraded ; and the thought of my 
position — that thus I might be doomed to spend my days 
— nearly drove me mad. Sometimes evil thoughts would 
enter my head ; and then I would half resolve to kill my 
master and take the consequences, or put an end to my 
own being. Then hope would revive, that something 
might turn up for my deliverance, and I would labor on, 
and strive to be resigned to bide my time. 

“ Thus a year rolled around, when one day Pedro 
Lopez came to me and inquired if I was contented with 
my situation ! At first I thought he was mocking me, 
and I half-raised a garden-tool I had in my hand to dash 
out his brains. He must have guessed my intention 
from my looks ; for he took a step back, and bade me be 
calm and give him a civil answer. I replied by inquiring 
if he would feel contented to be a slave in a foreign 
land ? He shook his head, and said he would not — that 
he had felt for my situation from the first — and that that 
was the cause of my being treated better than my com- 
panions. He then told me that as I had ever behaved 
myself with propriety, and as he had been offered a fair 


THE yOYFUL MEETING. 


349 


ransom by a small tribe of Indians, if I felt disposed to 
go with them he would give up all claim to me. A 
thought flashed upon me, that possibly this might be the 
tribe of Great Medicine, and I begged to see them. My 
request was granted, and the first glance showed me I 
was right in my conjectures; and, uttering a joyful cry, 
I rushed outside of the gate, to where they were assem- 
bled before the walls of the hacienda. 

“Frank, it is impossible for me to describe my feel- 
ings then. Life, liberty, everything joyous, seemed 
bursting upon me at once, and my brain grew dizzy 
with the exhilarating, intoxicating thoughts. I hugged 
the first Indian I met ; I danced, capered around, shouted, 
laughed, cried — in short, did everything extravagant to 
give my overpowering feelings vent. For an hour or 
two I was insane with joy, and my reasoning powers as 
bewildered as those of a lunatic. 

“ At last I began to grow calm ; and then I went 
around to each of my old friends and shook them by the 
hand, thanked them with tearful eyes and trembling 
voice for my deliverance, and received their congratula- 
tions and caresses in return. 

“ But where was Prairie Flower? As yet I had not 
seen her. I made the inquiry, but could get no direct 
answer. Some shook their heads, others said she was 
not here, and others again that she was away. Finding 
none would answer me, I concluded they had a sufficient 
reason for their evasion and dropped the subject. 

“ When everything had been satisfactorily arranged, 
and I had become reasonably sobered down, we all set off 
toward the north. A horse had been provided for me, 
and all were mounted — the females, of whom there were 
several, mostly on mules. 

“Some three miles from the hacienda we reached a 
heavy wood. Entering this abdut a mile, we made a halt 
by a spring. While watering the animals, I heard a dis- 
tant rustling of the- bushes and the tramp of more horses. 
Presently an airy figure, gaily attired, and mounted on a 
coal black Indian pony, burst through a dense copse 
near me, followed by five dusky maidens, and rode 
swiftly up to where I was standing by my steed. 


350 


THE JOYFUL MEETING, 


Prairie Flower !’ I exclaimed; and the next mo- 
ment she was on her feet and her hand clasped in mine. 

“ Oh, the emotions of that moment ! Time seemed to 
have turned his wheel backward, and years of toil and 
grief and fatigue were forgotten. Passions, which had 
slumbered, or been half-obliterated by other events, were 
again awakened and brought forth from their secret re- 
cesses ; and I saw her as I had seen her three years be- 
fore, and felt all I had then felt, but in a two-fold 
sense. 

“ As for Prairie Flower, she was pale ^d exceedingly 
agitated. She grasped my hand nervously, gave one 
searching glance at my features, and burst into tears — 
but did not speak. Then she sprung away from me a few 
paces, dashed the tears from her eyes, and returning with 
a bound, asked me a dozen questions in a breath : ‘ How 
I had been ? where I had been ? if I were well ? if I were 
glad to get my liberty ?’ and so on ; and wound up by 
adding that she was rejoiced to see me, and hoped I 
should be more fortunate hereafter. 

“ Throughout our first brief interview, her manner 
was wild and her language almost incoherent — which, 
so different from anything I had seen, surprised and 
alarmed me. She would ask a question ; and then, 
without waiting for an answer, ask another and another, 
or make some remark altogether irrelevant. At last, 
with a hope that I would now be happy, she informed 
me that she could see me no more that day ; and before 
I had time to reply, she had darted away, sprung into her 
saddle and was off — followed by all the females of the 
tribe and some half a dozen of the other sex. 

“ This proceeding perplexed me not a little. I asked 
several the meaning of it ; but they only shook their 
heads, and I was left to ponder it in secret. 

“We pursued our way slowly toward the north ; and 
I saw nothing of Prairie Flower, nor of those who had 
accompanied her, till about noon of the succeeding day, 
when she again joined us, with the rest of the tribe, 
among whom were some women and children I had not 
before seen, which led me to infer there had been two 


THE JO YE UL MEETING. 


351 


camps, and this supposition was subsequently confirmed 
by Prairie Flower herself. 

“ My second meeting with Prairie Flower was very 
different from the first. She was calm, constrained, and 
I fancied cold ; though somehow I was led to think this 
rather forced than natural. She was polite, civil, and 
agreeable ; but all that passionate enthusiasm of the pre- 
ceding day was gone. She did not speak with freedom, 
and her words seemed studied, and her sentences regu- 
lated by previous thought. In fact, she seemed to have 
relapsed into the same state as when wq first were guests 
of herself and tribe. There was either something very 
mysterious about this, or else it sprung from one natural 
cause — and my vanity, it may be, led me to infer the 
latter. If she loved me, her actions were easily accounted 
for ; if she did not care for me, why had she taken so 
much pains, as her own lips revealed, to search me out ? 

“ In the course of the conversation which ensued, she 
narrated how she had met you — under what circum- 
stances — and how, urged on by a sense of duty, she had 
at once set off with her tribe in the hope of learning 
something more of my fate. Fortune favored her ; for 
while on her way south, she met with an old mountain- 
eer, who gave her tidings of a cheering nature. As her 
adventures have been so much like your own, Frank, I 
shall not enter into detail. Enough that she was suc- 
cessful in finding me, and that I am here. 

“ Day after day, as we traveled north, I had more or 
less interviews with Prairie Flower ; but though she 
ever treated me with respect and politeness, she always 
studied to avoid familiarity. 

“ At last we reached the present spot, where the tribe 
have encamped for a few weeks, or until the fishers and 
hunters shall have laid in a supply of provisions, when 
they intend proceeding further north. From Prairie 
Flower having seen you where she did, I inferred you had 
gone home, and every day have been intending to follow. 
But somehow, when the time has come to start, I have 
again put it off for another twenty-four hours ; and thus 
have been delaying, day after day, for what purpose I 
hardly know myself. I believe I have been held here by 


352 


THE JOYFUL MEETING. 


some charm too powerful to break, and now that you 
have come I am glad of it.” 

“ And that charm,” said I, as my friend concluded 
with a sigh, “ is Prairie Flower.” 

“It may be,” he answered, musingly. “She is so 
strange — I do not know what to make of her. She is 
not an Indian — I feel certain of that ; but as to who she 
is I am as unenlightened as ever. Do you really think 
she loves me, Frank ?” he asked suddenly, rousing him- 
self and fastening his eyes earnestly upon mine. 

“ How can I answer ?” I said, evasively. “ But I know 
of one that does, Charles.” 

“You mean the Unknown — or rather, Eva Mor- 
timer ?” he rejoined, musingly. 

“ I do. I have already delivered her message, suffi- 
cient to assure you of the fact ; and she is certainly one 
worthy of being loved.” 

“ It may be,” he sighed, “ and there was2i time, Frank, 
when such intelligence would have made me happy. 
But now — (he paused, shook his head, and mused a 
moment) — now it is not so. When I first saw Eva, I 
had never seen Prairie Flower; and ere the germ of a 
first passion had been brought to maturity, the tree was 
transplanted to another soil, and the sun of another clime, 
although it did not change its nature, ripened it in 
another light. Or, to drop all metaphor,” he added, 
“Eva was the first to arpuse in me a latent passion, 
which doubtless a proper intercourse would have warmed 
to a mutual attachment ; but ere this was consummated 
— ere I even knew who she was — without a hope of ever 
seeing her again — I departed, and have never beheld her 
since. She touched some secret chord in my breast, and 
I dwelt on her memory for a time, and loved her as an 
unapproachable ideal rather than as an approachable 
substance. I loved her, or fancied I did, rather that I 
had nothing else on which to place my affections, than 
for any substantial cause. In another I afterward found 
a resemblance which arrested my attention and changed 
the current of my thoughts. The singular manner in 
which we were thrown together ; our daily interviews ; 
my gratitude to her as the preserver of my life and 


A STRANGE SURMISE. 


353 


yours ; her generosity ; in short, the concentration in 
her of every noble quality and the absence of all others, 
gradually drew me to Prairie Flower ; and ere I was 
aware of it myself, I found her presence necessary to my 
^ happiness. At last we parted, as you know how, and I 
^ strove to forget her ; but, Frank, though I mentioned 
her not to you, I now tell you that I strove a long time 
in vain. By day and by night, in a greater or less 
degree, did she occupy my thoughts ; and it was only 
when misfortunes fell upon me that her image gradually 
gave place to more trying thoughts. But our second 
meeting — an additional debt of gratitude for deliverance 
from slavery — has done the work ; and I now feel I can 
love none but Prairie Flower.” 

“Then you are really in love, Charles V 
“I am ; and I fear hopelessly so.” 

“ I fear so too,” sighed I. “ But where is Prairie 
Flower? I must see and thank her from my heart.” 

As I spoke, the subject of our conversation glided 
into the rude lod.ge and stood before me. 


CHAPTER XLIl. 

A STRANGE SURMISE. 

RAIRIE FLOWER ! my dearest friend !” I 
exclaimed, springing to my feet and clasping 
her extended hands in both of mine : 
“ Prairie Flower, this is a happy meeting — 
most happy !” 

“ I am very glad to see you, Mr. Leighton,” she said, 
with something like a sigh ; “ very, very glad !” and she 
closed in a tremulous tone, while her dark eyes filled with 
tears. 

Oh, how beautiful she looked, as we stood face to 
face, her hands clasped in mine ! Never had she appeared 



354 


A STRANGE SURMISE, 


more lovely. Since our first meeting, time had ripened 
her to full maturity ; and though her sweet countenance 
was pale and sad, and though something like care and 
thought could be traced thereon, yet it was so mellowed, 
so blended with something lofty and noble, that it added 
a peculiar charm to her appearance which mere physical 
beauty could not sustain. It was a something that, while 
vou admired, awakened your sympathy, and drew you to 
her, as toward one you felt it your duty and delight 
to soothe, cherish, and protect. As I gazed upon her 
a moment in silence, I became forcibly struck with the 
resemblance she bore to Eva Mortimer. She was a shade 
darker, perhaps ; but this might be owing to her life in 
the mountains, and constant exposure to the free, brac- 
ing air. There was the same mold of feature, and, in her 
now sad and thoughtful expression, a marked resem- 
blance to that I had seen on the countenance of Eva as 
she bade me farewell. A sudden thought sent a hot 
flush over me, and involuntarily I took a step backward 
and scrutinized her again. Good heavens ! could it be 
possible? No! no! it was too visionary. “And yet 
why too visionary?” I said, half aloud. As strange 
things had happened. Eva had a sister — a twin sister — 
who was lost at an infantile age — who had been stolen 
away. There was no existing proof — or at least none to 
my knowledge — that that sister was dead ; no one knew 
what had become of her. Here was a being of her own 
age apparently, and of a marked resemblance. Her his- 
tory she would never touch upon — perhaps did not 
know. Might Prairie Flower not be that twin sister? 
The thought, the suspicion, was wild and romantic — but 
w^hat argument was there against it ? The ways of 
Providence are strange, but not in all cases past finding 
out. 

“ It must be so !” I ejaculated, completely absorbed 
with my speculations, and forgetful of everything 
around me. 

I was aroused from my reverie by the voices of both 
my friend and Prairie Flower. 

“ What is the matter, Frank ?” cried Huntly, grasping 
my arm, shaking me, and gazing upon me with a look of 


A STRANGE SURMISE. 


355 


alarm. “ Speak to me ! speak ! that I may know you 
have your reason !” 

“Are you ill, sir ?” joined in Prairie Flower, with a 
startled look. “ I fear you are ill ! Fatigue has over- 
come him,” she added to Huntly. “ Better get him to 
lie down on the mat, while I run for assistance.” 

“Stay ! stay !” I exclaimed, as she turned to depart. 
“I am not ill. I was only — I beg your pardon — did I 
act strangely ?” 

“As I never saw you before,” replied Huntly. “ You 
stared wildly at Prairie Flower, and spoke incoherently. 
Tell me ! are you in your senses !” 

“ Most certainly I am. I was only thinking of — 
of ” 

“Of what, pray ?” 

“ Prairie Flower, speak !” I exclaimed, addressing her, 
as she stood near the entrance, uncertain whether to depart 
or not : “ Speak ! what do you know of your history ?” 

“My history?” she repeated in surprise. “Have I 
not forbidden you ” 

“ Never mind now ! I have important reasons for 
asking.” 

She colored to the eyes, and seemed greatly em- 
barrassed. 

“ What reasons can you have,” she rejoined, “for ask- 
ing this, in this wild manner? You surprise and alarm 
me!” 

“ A resemblance,” I replied, “ a strong resemblance 
you bear to another. Fear not to tell me and my friend 
what you know ; and we promise, if necessary, to keep 
your secret inviolate.” 

“Ay, do, Prairie Flower !” urged Huntly, vehemently, 
who now comprehended the whole matter. “Speak, 
dear Prairie Flower, without reserve! Speak, I pray 
you ! for much depends upon your answer.” 

“ Are you both mad ?” she said, looking from one to 
the other, as if doubting our sanity. 

“No ! no !” I returned ; “we are not mad, but in our 
sober senses. A weighty reason, which my friend did 
not at first, but now understands, and all important to 
you as well as ourselves and others, induces the inquiry. 


35 ^ 


A STRANGE SURMISE. 


Come, sweet Prairie Flower ! will you not grant our re- 
quest ?” 

She hung down her head, tapped the earth with her 
foot, and seemed confused and agitated. I approached 
and gently took her hand, and again in a soothing voice 
entreated her to tell us all she knew — reiterating my 
promise, that, if necessary, it should never pass to other 
ears. 

“ Say, swe6t being ! are you not of our race ? — are 
you not a pale-face ?" 

For some time she did not reply, during which she 
seemed struggling to master her emotions. At length a 
half inaudible, “ I am,” escaped her lips. 

“ I thought so — I could almost have sworn it !” I re- 
turned, triumphantly. “And your parents, Prairie 
Flower ?” 

She burst into tears, and hid her face in her hands. 

“ Nay, sweet Prairie Flower, be calm !” I added. “ Do 
not let this aifect you so seriously. I do not seek to 
pry into your private affairs, only so far as I fancy the 
knowledge imparted may benefit yourself. Tell me — 
did you or do you know your parents ?” 

She shook her head and sobbed aloud. 

“ Believe me, gentle maiden, nothing is further from 
my design than to wound your feelings or recall painful 
associations. Do you know how you came among the 
Indians ?” 

“Something I know,” she answered. 

“ Will you tell us what you know 

“ As you seem so anxious,” she said, making an effort 
to dry her tears, “ I will, on condition I gain the consent 
of Cha-cha-chee-kee-ho-bah.” 

“ And what has he to do with it ?” 

“ I have promised to reveal nothing without his con- 
sent. And now I think of it,” she quickly added, “per- 
haps I have done wrong in saying what I have.” 

“ Give yourself no uneasiness. Prairie Flower, for 
even he could attach no blame to what you have said. 
But how came you to promise him this ?” 

“ He exacted it of me as my guardian.” 

“ Indeed ! Then he must know your history 


A STRANGE SURMISE. 


357 


‘ He knows more of it than I do.” 

‘Then I must see him at once. Pray, conduct me to 
him !” 

“Nay, sir,” she answered, “it were useless. He would 
tell you nothing. He is old, and singular, and would 
look upon you as an intruder. I will see him, and see 
what can be done. He loves me, and I have more in- 
fluence over him than any other of the tribe. If he 
refuses to tell me, no earthly power can open his lips, 
and the secret will go down to the grave with him. But 
now let me hear something of yourself, and how we all 
came to meet again in a manner so singular.” 

“ One question more. Prairie Flower !” 

“ Nay, no more. I will answer nothing further till I 
have consulted the Old-Man-of-the-Mountains.” 

“ Be it so, then,” I answered ; and the conversation 
changed to matters connected with my present ad- 
venture. 

We were still engaged in recalling past events, when 
an Indian maiden hurriedly entered the lodge, and said 
something in her own language to Prairie Flower. 

“ Indeed !” she exclaimed, starting and turning deadly 
pale. “Gentlemen, excuse me !” and she hastened from 
the cot. 

“ What can be the meaning of this ?” said Huntly. 

“ Some startling news, I judge. Perhaps some one has 
been taken ill and sent for her,” 

“And so, Frank,” returned Huntly the next moment, 
“you really think Prairie Flower and Eva sisters?” 

“ There is so strong a resemblance, my friend, that, 
until I have proof to the contrary, I can hardly believe 
otherwise.” 

“Strange !” he rejoined, musingly ; “Strange ! very 
strange ! Yet since you have told me something of the 
history of the Mortimers, I must say the matter looks 
possible, not to say probable.” 

“ At all events,” I returned, “ there is mystery some- 
vrhere, and I shall not rest till it be sifted to the bottom. 
I hope she may prevail upon the old man to allow her 
to tell what she knows, even if he add nothing him- 
self.” 


358 


A STRANGE SURMISE. 


“And should it turn out as we suspect, Frank!” 
said Huntly, with great energy, grasping my arm as he 
spoke. 

“ Well ?” 

“ You know I — that is ” 

“I understand. You would have her the closest of 
kin — eh ! Charles ?” 

“Say no more. I see you understand me. But 
then, I- ” 

“ Well, say on.” 

“ I — that is — you — perhaps she — she does not fancy 
me ?” 

“ What ! do you doubt ?” 

“ Why, no — yes — I — I cannot say I doubt — but — but 
she is so strange, Frank ! I would give the world to 
have her talk to me with the freedom she does to you.” 

“And if you really love her, Charles, you should give 
the world to have everything exactly the reverse ; in other 
words, exactly as it is.” 

“What do you mean ?” 

“ Why, simply, that she does not love me.” 

“ Are you sure of this, Frank ?” and Huntly fastened 
his eyes intently upon mine, as if to read my soul. 

“ As sure as that the sun shines at noon-day.” 

“ And you think she — she ” 

“ Loves another.” 

Huntly turned deadly pale. 

“ Name him, Frank ?” he gasped. 

“Charles Huntly.” 

“ Indeed !” he exclaimed, with a rapid change of 
countenance. “You think this?” 

“ I know it.” 

He took a step backward and looked at me hard for a 
moment — during which his color came and went rapidly, 
and his breathing became audible — and then he said, im- 
pressively : 

“ Frank, do not jest with me ! To me this matter is 
of the gravest importance.” 

“ I do not jest, Charles ; I know your feelings, and 
vou may rest assured I would be the last to jest with 
them.” 


A STRANGE SURMISE. 


359 


** And you say she loves me ?” 

“ I do.” 

He grasped my hand, the tears sprung into his eyes, 
and his voice trembled as he rejoined : 

Frank, I thank you for these words ! I am suffering 
under deep affliction — my life is clouded — but, if this be 
true, there is still su ishine — still an oasis in the desert — 
still something to look forward to.” 

“ My words are true, my friend, if that is any con- 
solation.” 

“ And how have you discovered this so suddenly ?” 

“ I have not. I have known it all along.” 

“Indeed ! you never told me so before.^’ 

“True, and for good reasons.” 

“What reasons, 1 pray?” 

“ I did not wish to encourage an attachment which 
may even yet prove hopeless.” 

“ What mean you ?” 

“ As I told you once before : Prairie Flower may 
love — nay, does love, mark that ! — but may never marry 
— nay, may even reject the suit of him she idolizes.” 

“ For what cause ?” 

“That she is already wedded to her tribe.” 

“But should she prove to be what we suspect ?” 

“ That majyaher the case with her ; and on the strength 
of that supposition, and that you have been so myste- 
riously brought together, and that I find your affections 
so firmly placed upon ter, have I ventured to tell you 
what I have long known. But remember, Charles, I 
warn you not to be too sanguine in your expectations !” 

“ Well,” answered my friend, “1 will hope for the 
best. It is all very singular !” he added, relapsing into a 
musing mood. 

“ I suppose we had better not start for Oregon to- 
day ?” said I, playfully. 

“ No, not to-day !” he replied ; “ not to-day ! To-mor- 
row, perhaps.” 

“ Or peradventure the day following !” 

. “Ay, peradventure.” 

At this moment Teddy, Pierre and Black Geoige 


36 o death of gee at MEDICINE. 


appeared at the door to pay their respects to my friend, 
and I quitted the lodge, bidding them pass in. 


CHAPTER XLIII. 

ILLNESS AND DEATH OF GREAT MEDICINE. 

S yet I had not exchanged a word with any 
of the tribe but Prairie Flower ; and as I left 
the cot, I turned toward a crowd, which was 
huddled together near the center of the tem- 
porary village, their eyes all fixed in a certain 
direction. I knew by this, and the abrupt departure of 
Prairie Flower, that something unusual had occurred ; 
and hastening forward, I soon reached them, and, to my 
surprise, found most of them in tears, and the others 
looking very solemn. 

“What has happened, my friends?” inquired I. 

On hearing my voice, those nearest to me turned 
round and extended their hands in silence. They then 
separated, so as to allow me a passage through ; and, as I 
moved along, I shook a hand of each on either side. 
They appeared glad to see me, but, at the same time, very 
sad, from some untoward circumstance, of which I felt 
anxious to be informed. 

When I had concluded, I turned to an intelligent 
youth, and inquired the cause of each and all looking so 
serious. 

He silently pointed his finger to the center lodge, 
and, after a solemn pause, uttered : 

“ Great Medicine.” 

“ Sick ?” 

He nodded his head. 

This, then, accounted for the agitation of Prairie 
Flower; and after what had passed between us regarding 
her history, it may readily be inferred I felt no little 



DEATH OF GEE AT MEDICINE, 361 

I anxiety to ascertain to what extent the old man was 
indisposed, and whether his case was considered imme- 
diately dangerous. He was very old, I knew, and in all 
probability would not long survive. Should he die 
without revealing to Prairie Flower her history, all de- 
pendence of proof from her would be cut off, and it would 
doubtless be a very difficult, if not an impossible, 
endeavor, to identify her with the lost daughter of 
Madame Mortimer. On this account, as well as for old 
acquaintance sake, I was very anxious to enter the lodge 
— at the door of which were standing several females, 
weeping. I made a step forward for this purpose, when 
an Indian touched me on the shoulder and shook his 
head, as a sign that I must go no nearer. 

“ I have most important business with the sick man,’* 
I said. “Can I not be permitted to see him ?” 

He again shook his head, 

“ But this matter is urgent !” 

“No one must see him,” he answered, “ but such as he 
desires to see.” 

“ Then let me see Prairie Flower.” 

“ She must not now be called. We wait her appear- 
ance.” 

“ Will she soon be here ?” 

“ I cannot say.” 

There was nothing to do, therefore, but to wait as pa- 
tiently as I could. What troubled me the most, was the 
fear that the old man might die suddenly, and Prairie 
Flower, in her agitation, neglect to question him till too 
late. 

For an hour I paced to and fro, in a very uneasy 
mood, revolving these things in my mind, when Prairie 
Flower made her appearance outside of the lodge, where 
she was instantly surrounded by those nearest in waiting, 
all eager for her intelligence. 

Having spoken a few words with her, they all moved 
slowly away, with sorrowful looks, and Prairie Flower 
approached to where I was standing. 

The Indians, though as anxious as myself to gain her 
tidings, moved not from their places, but waited in re- 
spectful silence for her to open the conversation. 

16 


362 DEATH OF GREAT MEDICINE. 


I, however, not being bred in the same school with 
them, could not exercise the same patience ; and, taking 
a few steps forward, I said : 

“ Great Medicine is ill, Prairie Flower ?” 

“ He is,” she answered, in a tremulous voice. 

“Very ill? dangerously ill ?” I inquired. 

“ I fear he is.” 

The Indians behind me, on hearing this, uttered sev- 
eral deep grog.ns, but said not a word. 

“ Can he survive. Prairie Flower ?” 

“ I think not,” she answered, mournfully shaking her 
head. 

“ Any particular disease ?” 

“ Old age and debility. He is very old, and has not 
been well for some time. A few minutes before I was 
called, he was taken very ill. I fear his time to go is at 
hand. Friends,” she added, addressing her tribe, “you 
are about to lose one you love and reverence. Let us 
commend his soul to the Great Spirit and thereupon 
each and all kneeled upon the earth in prayer. 

When this was over, I turned to Prairie Flower 
again. 

“Pardon me, fair being,” I said, “at this solemn 
time, for intruding worldly thoughts upon your atten- 
tion ! But the Old-man-of-the-Mountains is about to 
depart, in all probability, to join his fathers and friends 
in another state. You think he holds the key to your 
history. If you have not already, would it not be well 
for you to bid him unlock the memories of the past, so 
far as relates to yourself?” 

“ True,” she answered, with a start ; “ I had forgotten 
that. I fear it is too late ; for already his voice falters, 
and he seems standing midway between time and eter- 
nity, and slowly receding toward the invisible land of 
spirits.” 

“ Fly !” I urged : “fly. Prairie Flower ! and do your 
best, ere all is oyer !” 

“ I will,” she said ; and at once hastened back to the 
lodge. 

For another hour I paced to and fro impatiently, ever 


DEATH OF GREAT MEDICINE. 363 


and anon turning my eyes upon the hut where the old 
man was breathing his last. 

At length Prairie Flower reappeared, and, with her, 
three Indian maidens, all weeping and seeming very 
much dejected. 

On leaving the lodge, each went separate ways 
through the village. Prairie Flower approaching me 
direct. 

“To prayer !” she said, addressing her friends, who 
still remained as she had left them. 

All again kneeled as before. When they rose to their 
feet, I addressed her : 

“ What news. Prairie Flower ?” 

“He is sinking very fast,” she answered, sadly. 

“ Did you gain any information ?” 

“No! I addressed him on the subject, but he only 
looked at me vaguely, and did not seem to comprehend 
what I said.” 

“ Alas ! I fear it is too late. Prairie Flower !” 

“I fear so,” she rejoined. “But he may revive a 
little ; and if he do, I will question him again.” 

With this she returned to the lodge of the dying man, 
while I proceeded to join my friend, and inform him of 
what had occurred. 

I found Huntly as I had left him, in company with 
our companions, all engaged in an animated conver- 
sation. 

“ Well,” he said, as I entered, “what news, Frank? 
Something has happened, I know by your sober looks.” 

I proceeded to detail what had transpired, and the 
fears I entertained. 

“ This is unfortunate,” he said, when I had done ; 
“ most unfortunate.” 

The sun was some half an hour above the hills, when 
Prairie Flower again joined us in haste. Pierre, Teddy 
and Black George had left some time before, so that no 
one was in the cot but myself and friend, and we were 
so deeply engaged in discussing the various matters 
which had transpired, as not to be aware of her close 
proximity till she spoke : 


364 DEATH OF GREAT MEDICINE, 


“ Where is this lady,” she asked, “ whom I re- 
semble ?” 

“ I left her in Oregon City,” I replied. 

“That is far away,” she rejoined, musingly. 

“ But what success. Prairie Flower ?” 

“ Better than I expected.” 

“Indeed ! You give us joy.” 

“ As I observed he might do, when I quitted you,” 
she answered, “ the old man again revived, when I 
immediately put the question as to what he knew of my 
history. He seemed much surprised, and inquired my 
reasons for asking. I hurriedly informed him of your 
conjectures. He listened attentively, and seemed ill at 
ease. He had promised, he said in reply, never to divulge, 
during his natural life, who I was, nor anything connected 
with my earliest years.” 

“ Ha ! then he knows your history himself ?” 

“ Nay, do not interrupt me.” 

“ I crave your pardon ! Go on.” 

“ Yes,” continued Prairie Flower, “he said he knew 
much concerning me, but did not know all ; that some- 
thing had whispered him this information might be 
valuable to me at some future time ; and that he had 
recorded it on a roll of parchment, which he had pur- 
chased of a trader for the purpose. This parchment, he 
said, was concealed under a stone, in a certain place, 
which none but such as to whom he might reveal the 
secret would ever be able to find. He further said, that 
if in truth I had a sister and mother living, I had better 
perhaps seek them out ; and, should they recognize and 
claim me, I could then do as I should think proper, 
either cling to them or my tribe ; that although I had 
been reared for the most part among Indians, and had 
adopted their habits and customs, still I was not of their 
race, not of their blood, and he could therefore see 
nothing unnatural or improper in my desiring to form 
acquaintance with my own kin. But, he added, lest I 
should meet with disappointment — in my kin, or those I 
supposed to be such, not claiming me on what I and they 
might know — he thought it better that I should remain 
ignorant of myself until I had seen them face to face ; 


DEATH OF GREAT MEDICINE. 365 


when, should all turn out as 1 desired, it would be time 
enough to produce proof ; and that if I would promise 
to go in quest of them before perusing, or allowing 
another to peruse, the parchment in question, he would 
make its locality known.” 

“ What a singular request !” said I. 

“ True,” replied Prairie Flower ; but, as I have said 
before. Great Medicine is a very singular being, and an 
enigma to all.” 

“ And did you agree to his proposition ?” 

“ I did, though somewhat reluctantly. But I knew, if 
I did not, that the secret would die with him, and of this 
I could not bear to think.” 

“ And so he told you all ?” 

He did.” 

And where is the parchment concealed ?” 

“Nay,” she answered, shaking her head, “I do not 
know as I am at liberty to tell.” 

“ I beg your pardon. Prairie Flower ! I certainly 
had no right to question. But you will accompany us to 
Oregon City ?” 

“ That is what I came to speak about,” she replied, 
timidly. “ You really think your conjectures are right ?” 

“We do,” answered Huntly. “Everything tends to 
convince us so. At first, what was only a vague suspi- 
cion with us, has since grown almost to a certainty. 
Come, go with us, sweet Prairie Flower ! Say you will 
go, and I shall be happy.” 

Prairie Flower changed color as Huntly spoke, and 
turned aside her head. 

“ And you will allow me a few companions ?” she 
timidly inquired. 

“As many as you please,” returned Huntly, “so you. 
will consent to go.” 

“ But when do you start ?” 

“ We will wait your time.” 

“ My duty,” she said, solemnly, “ is henceforth by the 
side of Cha-cha-chee-kee-ho-bah, till he take his depart- 
ure to the land of eternal rest — then to follow his re- 
mains to the grave — which done, I shall soon be ready to 


366 DEATH OF GREAT MEDICINE. 


join you. Adieu, for the present ! I must return to 
him now.” 

Saying which, she quitted the lodge. 

“ At last !” said Huntly, turning to me : “ At last, 
Frank, I have hope ! Let us forth and take the evening 
air — for strange thoughts are crowding my breast.” 

Arm in arm we strolled through the little village, 
where the solemn faces of all we met bespoke the gloom 
of mourning for one universally beloved, and took our 
way down to the little streamlet, which, all unconscious 
of mortal change, ran murmuring on as it had done per- 
chance for ages. All nature reposed in her most charm- 
ing beauty of quietude. The sun was just beginning to 
sink behind the lofty mountains to the westward, and 
the last flood-light of day made golden the tiny waves 
of the water, and began to hasten the long shadows, 
precursors of diurnal night, and that night of death 
which knows no waking. The very air seemed solemn, 
it was so still. Scarce a breath moved, and the leaflets 
hung down their heads as if in sorrow. The feathered 
warblers, which had made music all day, were winding 
up their tunes with what seemed a melancholy cadence. 
A few night- watchers had just begun to give each other 
calls in timid tones, as if half afraid their voices were 
trespassing upon a scene too sacred. It was just calm 
enough, and mild enough, and lovely enough, and 
solemn enough, to awaken meditative thought ; that' 
thought in which all the unutterable poetry of our nature 
becomes infused ; when the outward sense bids the inner 
tongue speak to us in language which the enraptured 
soul only comprehends ; when we feel a melancholy 
happiness, and a desire to steal away from everything 
living, and in solitude commune with ourselves and our 
God ; when the natural voice jars discordantly with the 
finer and more elevated tones of our being, proceeding 
from the spirit-harp, touched by the unseen hand of the 
All-pervading Deity ; when, in short, we feel drawn by 
an unexplainable sympathy to a lonely meditation on 
things high and holy, beyond the matter-of-fact events 
of every-day experience. 

Did you never feel thus, reader ? Did you never steal 


DEATH OF GREAT MEDICINE. 367 


away from your daily cares, your business, your friends — 
from everything common and evanescent — to hold a 
quiet communion with your nobler thoughts? — and then 
trace those thoughts, as it were, to their primeval source 
— the eternal fount of the Great All-Good ? And are 
not such sweet thoughts, and sweet moments of happy 
rest, in a life more or less filled with turmoil and pain ? 
For myself, I answer yes ; for I look upon them as fore- 
tastings of a Slate of blissful and eternal beatitude, when 
the changing circumstances of this life shall trouble us no 
more forever. 

Thus I felt, and thus my friend, on the present occa- 
sion. Deep thought with both was too busy for words, 
and we gained the rivulet in silence. Some fifty yards 
above us was a large, flat rock, overhanging the gurgling • 
waters. Toward this Huntly silently pointed ; and obey- 
ing the gesture, I accompanied him thither. Seated at 
length upon it, our eyes simultaneously became fixed 
upon the rapid current laving its base, and our ears 
drank in its music, while the sunlight gradually departed 
from the stream, the deepening shadows of night 
stretched over us, growing more and more somber, and 
the stars here and there began to peep out in the heavens, 
and shine brighter and more bright, till the firmament 
above appeared blazoned with thousands on thousands 
of shining worlds, the armorial bearings of the Great 
Omnipotent. Still we sat in silence — now soaring in 
thought to another existence — now dwelling upon the 
wonders of nature as a complicated whole, or equally 
complicated, inexplicable part — and anon reviewing the 
past, touching upon the present, and leaping forward in 
imagination to the future — that future, to the young, of 
golden hopes and bright anticipations, destined for the 
most part never to be realized. Thus vve mutely sat, for 
an hour or more, when Huntly broke the silence. 

“Frank,” he said, “what a charm, what a solemn 
charm, there seems in everything to-night ! I have been 
musing, as it were, upon everything. I have been back 
to my boyhood days, when I was wild, giddy, reckless, 
and frolicsome ; when I had no thought beyond the sport 
of the hour, and no ambition but to make a jest of my 


368 DEATH OF GEE AT MEDICINE. 


fellow beings. I have traced up our youthful sports (for 
you and I were almost one, you know,) to that sudden 
resolve which parted me for the last time from my be- 
loved father.” 

Here his voice faltered to a pause, and for some 
moments he remained silent, with his face bowed upon 
his hands. Then raising his head, he dashed away a few 
tears, and resumed : 

“ I have recalled event after event to the present time ; 
and I find, in my reckless career,- that I have much, too 
much, to regret. But I believe in an overruling, myste- 
rious Power, and that there has been a purpose in all 
beyond my own simple inclinations. Adversity, I feel, 
has been for the best, by working in me a great change. 
Yes, Frank, I am a changed being. From boyhood I 
have passed to manhood, and from the idle follies of 
youth, to the wiser and more sober thoughts of maturer 
age. Once I was all for adventure and change — but now 
the case is different. I have seen enough, and am satis- 
fied. Let me once more be comfortably situated, with a 
home and friends, means to gain an honest living, and, 
Frank, one, one sweet being, to cheer me with her smiles 
over the otherwise toilsome path of life, and 1 shall rest 
content.” 

“A great change this, in Charles Huntly, most cer- 
tainly,” I said ; “ a great change indeed ! But perhaps 
no more than in myself ; for I, too, am tired of adven- 
ture, and ardently long for those very joys, (joys now, 
Charles, though once it was not so.) of which you 
speak.” 

“ Hark !” exclaimed my friend at this moment. 
‘^What sound is that?” 

A long, loud, mournful wail came borne upon the 

air. 

“ Alas !” said I ; “it speaks of a soul departed !” 

“ Let us return,” said Huntly, with a sigh ; and forth- 
with we set out for the village. 

On our way thither, we several times heard the same 
melancholy sound ; and as we entered the precincts of 
the little settlement, we beheld somber figures moving to 
and fro, bearing lighted torches. As we drew near the 


THE LEGACY, 


369 

center lodge, I discovered Prairie Flower, in company 
with several of her own sex, moaning with grief. 

She espied us as we came up, and, separating from 
her companions, approached and extended a hand to 
each. 

“ Alas, my friends,” she sighed, “ I need your sym- 
pathy ! He who has been to me a guardian, a father, is 
now no more.” 

Her voice faltered as she spoke, and, withdrawing her 
hands from ours, she covered her eyes and wept aloud. 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

THE LEGACY OF PRAIRIE FLOWER. 


HE second day from his death, was the one 
set apart for the burial of the Old-Man-of-the- 
Mountains. Each of my party, and everyone of 
the tribe, was present, and the funeral rite 
was conducted in the solemn manner de- 
scribed in a former chapter. As it had been the province 
of the deceased to enact a peculiar part on all similar 
occasions, and as this constituted one of their forms of 
worship, it became necessary for the tribe to select one 
of their number to fill his place. The one chosen for the 
office, which he was to hold till death, was an old, white- 
haired Indian, of benevolent aspect, who at once entered 
upon his duties, and thenceforth took the title of “Great 
Medicine.” 

A grave was dug in the valley by the little stream ; 
and here the deceased was buried, with all the mournful 
honors befitting his station. Great were the lamenta- 
tions, and many the tears shed, as his body was lowered 
to his last, long, narrow home— the house appointed for 
all living! When his remains had been covered from 
16* 



370 


THE LEGACY. 


the sight of all, and the “ Last Dirge” had been chanted, 
several Indian maidens brought and strewed flowers over 
the damp earth ; and then repeating, “ Sleep in peace, 
beloved !” the whole tribe took a solemn leave of the 
spot, and slowly and sadly retraced their steps to the 
village. i 

An hour or two later, Prairie Flower sought me out • 
and said : 

“ I suppose, my friend, you are anxious to be on your 
way ?” 

“ At your earliest convenience,” I replied. 

‘‘ I do not wish to detain you,” she rejoined ; “ but if 
you can delay another day, it will greatly oblige me, as I 
have much to attend to ere I depart.” 

“A day, either way, will make but little difference,” 
said I ; “ and, moreover, we could not expect you to 
leave sooner, after what has occurred.” 

“ Thank you,” she replied. “ I will hasten all my 
arrangements, and at sunrise to-morrow will be yours to 
command and she left me to begin her preparations. 

In the course of the day, Prairie Flower informed the 
tribe of what had transpired relative to herself, and also 
of her present design. Tlie younger members, who had 
always looked upon her as one of themselves, were much 
surprised, and all were very sad at the thought of parting 
with one so dear to them. They could not but admit, 
under the circumstances, it was her duty to go ; but they 
made her promise, in case events should turn up induc- 
ing her to withdraw from them altogether, that she would 
at least pay them one more visit ere saying the final fare- 
well. She then made choice of three young men and 
two maidens to be her companions, and selected five 
noble steeds for them to ride, reserving the little pony 
for herself. 

At daylight on the following morning the whole vil- 
lage was astir ; and having broken our fast, the horses 
were caught and saddled, and, ere the sun was half an 
hour above the hills, all were in readiness to start. 

The parting scene between Prairie Flower and her 
friends was very affecting. She embraced all of her own 
sex — kissed the children over and over again — shook the 


THE LEGACY, 


371 


young men and aged by the hand — and, amid tears at 
losing her, and earnest prayers for her safety and happi- 
ness, sprung upon her pony and dashed away, too much 
affected to witness the separation between those who 
remained and those selected to accompany her. The 
latter now took leave, one by one ; and though much 
feeling was displayed on both sides, yet it was very dif- 
ferent from the farewell of Prairie Flower. 

My friends,” said Huntly, when it came our turn to 
depart, “for your kindness to me I feel very, very grate- 
ful — but at present, the only return in my power to 
make is thanks. Should I ever have an opportunity to 
do more, you shall find that your labors in my behalf 
have not been unworthily bestowed. Farewell ! If we 
meet not again on earth, I trust we may in a better 
state.” 

Each of our party next proceeded to shake hands 
with each of the tribe ; and as soon as this was over, we 
sprung upon our horses, and, dashing away, soon joined 
those in advance. 

I must now pass rapidly over our journey, as but 
little occurred on the way of interest to the general 
reader. 

Our provisions were supplied by our trusty rifles — 
we sometimes killing a bear, a deer, and once or twice a 
buffalo. 

Entering the beautiful South Park, a kind of second 
Eden, we pushed forward, and on the second day reached 
the head waters of the South Fork of Platte, down which 
stream we continued to St. Vrain’s Fort, where we all 
arrived without accident. 

Here I took leave of Pierre and Black George, paying 
them liberally for their assistance, and pursued our 
journey toward the Black Hills, to the very spot where 
I had first been introduced to the Mysterious Tribe, and 
where, as I learned from Prairie Flower, they intended 
making their winter quarters. 

On our way thither. Prairie Flower threw off much 
of that reserve which she had hitherto exercised toward 
Huntly ; and not unfrequently they rode on together for 
miles, engaged in earnest conversation. The effect of 


372 


THE LEGACY. 


this upon my friend was very gratifying to me ; it seemed 
to divert his thoughts from more painful subjects ; and I 
saw with pleasure that his pale, careworn features gradu- 
ally resumed their wonted appearance, and his eye, 
especially, its former luster. Still he was sad at times — 
very sad—- and then I knew his thoughts were dwelling 
upon the loss of his father, and the afflictions of his 
mother and sister. He was naturally but little given 
to despondency ; and when in company with myself or 
another, ever strove to be cheerful, that he might not 
cause us the pain of sympathy. 

Sometimes I held long, private conversations with 
Prairie Flower ; and then she would ask me over and 
over again about her supposed sister and mother — 
whether I thought they wouJd be glad to own her — and 
more than once made me recount what little I knew of 
their history. This was a theme of which she seemed 
never to tire, and oftentimes would be affected to tears. 
Then she would tell me how she had mused over herself, 
and wondered who she was — whether she had a mother 
living — and if so, whether that mother ever thought of 
her. Sometimes she had fancied herself ignobly born — 
that she had been cast off in infancy — and then she had 
gone away by herself and wept bitter tears, and had 
prayed ardently that she might be resigned to her fate. 
She loved the Indians — among whom, at an early age, 
her lot had been cast — to her they were as brothers and 
sisters ; but still the knowledge that she was not of their 
race — a secret yearning for the fond look and tender tone 
of a mother — had troubled her sorely ; and nothing but 
the consolation of religion, and the hope of at last meet- 
ing her relatives in a better world, had supported her 
through her lonely trials. 

Until I heard this from the lips of Prairie Flower, I 
had no idea that such was the case, and had believed her 
contented and happy in the position where Providence 
had placed her, as had all who knew her. But they, as 
well as I, had overlooked, that where mystery clouds the 
birth of an individual, the thought of this to a sensitive, 
intelligent mind — his or her speculations upon it — the 
want of, the yearning for, more knowledge— must at 


THE LEGACY. 


373 


I times render such, no matter what the outward seeming-, 
very unhappy. It was this very thing, perhaps, which 
!; had made Prairie Flower so distant toward my friend, 
whom she loved, as I knew, with a passion pure and holy. 
She had thought herself unfit to be his companion, and 
had nobly struggled to undo what nature had done ; and 
oh ! what a hopeless and painful struggle it had been ! — 
what an iron resolution it had required to carry it out ! 
— and how many sleepless nights and miserable days it 
! must have cost her ! 

At last we reached the village, to which, some three 
I years before, I had been borne from the field of battle in 
I an unconscious state. What singular associations the 
sight of it revived ! and how mournful its present 
aspect ! It \\^as deserted, and silent ; and though most of 
its rude tenements were still standing, yet their half di- 
lapidated appearance, and the general air of long deser- 
tion and decay every where visible, brought to mind Gold- 
smith’s unrivaled and beautiful poem of the “Deserted 
Village.” We rode through the little town in silence, 
noting each thing as we passed — and when we had got 
beyond it, Prairie Flower turned, gazed back, sighed 
deeply, wiped a few tears from, her eyes, and then urged 
her little pony forward at a. rapid pace. 

A ride of half a mile brought us to a huge old tree, 
with a hollow trunk, when Prairie Flower came to a halt 
and said : 

“ My friends, this is the spot designated by Great 
Medicine as the one where I should find a treasure to me 
more valuable than a mine of gold. Beneath that stone 
lies all or nothing. Oh! how I tremble, lest it prove 
the latter ! Heaven grant I find what I seek !” 

“ Amen to that !” responded I ; and the whole party 
dismounted. 

Leading the way. Prairie Flower passed the tree a 
few feet, and rested her delicate foot upon a stone of 
singular appearance. 

“ Here !” she almost gasped, while her features grew 
deadly pale with excitement, and her frame shook nerv- 
ously : “ Here 1” and she pointed down with her finger, 
but could say no more. 


374 


THE LEGACY. 


Forming a circle around the stone, we all gazed upon 
it a moment in silence, and then addressing Huntly : 

“ Come, my friend,” I said, “let us raise it.” 

Stooping down, we applied all our strength to it in 
vain. 

“ It seems bedded in the earth by nature,” said Huntly. 

“ Oh, no ! say not that !” cried Prairie Flower, in 
alarm. “ Say not that, I beg of you ! This is the spot 
described to me by the Old-Man-of-the-Mountains. I 
have thought of it by day — dreamed of it by night. I 
here have rested hopes of which you little think. Hopes, 
whose realization may render me the most happy, as dis- 
appointment would the most miserable, being on earth. 
If I have made a mistake, it is a fatal one. A mistake 

But no ! no ! it must not, must not, be ! Help, here, 

some of you !” she added, addressing the others. “Be 
quick ! and do not keep me in this torturing suspense !” 

She spoke hurriedly, almost frantically, and her 
manner -was very wild. As she concluded, she clasped 
her hands and gazed down upon the rock with a look I 
shall never forget. It was the agonized concentration of 
hope and fear : as if, in truth, she feared herself about to 
lose the only friend she had on earth. 

Instantly Teddy and one of the Indians laid hold 
with us, and our united efforts moved the stone from its 
foundation. All pressed forward, and eagerly gazed into 
the aperture. Nothing was there, apparently, but smooth, 
solid earth. 

Fora moment Prairie Flower stood stupefied with 
amazement and despair. Then, burying her face in her 
hands, she sunk down upon the earth, without uttering a 
syllable. 

“ Do not despair !” cried I ; and, bending down, I 
felt the earth with my hand. 

It was soft, as if it had once been removed. I hastily 
dug down a few inches, and my hand touched a solid 
substance. Brushing away the dirt rapidly, I dis- 
covered, to my unspeakable delight, a small, wooden 
box. 

“Il is here!” shouted I ; “it is here!” and the next 


THE LEGACY. 


375 


I moment I had torn it from the ground and stood trium- 
1 phantly holding it aloft. 

My words roused Prairie Flower, who started to her 
feet with a scream, caught the box from my hand, pressed 
I ' it eagerly to her lips and heart, and then paced to and 
I fro in an indescribable delirium of delight. At length 
I she became more calm ; and turning to the rest of us, 
who stood looking on in silence, she said, in one of her 
i sweetest tones : 

I “ My friends, you must excuse me ! — but oh ! you 
! know not, cannot know, my feelings for the last five 
minutes !” 

“ We can at least imagine them,” returned I; “and 
certainly there is no apology needed. We are only too 
I happy in discovering the treasure.” 

“ Ay, treasure indeed !” she exclaimed, holding the 
I box from her, and gazing upon it with a singular ex- 
; pression. “ Ha !” she added : “ here is something written 
' on the outside ;” and, examining it a moment, she added : 

“ It is in the language of the Mysterious Tribe, and, 

: translated, reads, ‘ Seek lower !' ” 

“ That implies something still below,” observed Hunt- 
I ly ; and stooping down, he thrust his hand into the loose 
earth, and presently drew forth a lump of pure gold, 
weighing some three or four pounds. 

Great was our astonishment on beholding this ; but it 
was increased the next moment by my friend bringing 
; up two more of nearly equal size and value. These 
lumps had no particular shape, and had the appearance 
of having been melted and poured upon a rough sub- 
stance. 

“ This is strange !” remarked Prairie Flower, as we 
all stood examining them; “and where could Great 
Medicine have procured them ? There is no gold in 
these mountains that I am aware of. And, by-the-way, 
this reminds me that Great Medicine was always well 
supplied with gold, though where it came fiom was al- 
ways a mystery to the rest of the tribe. And see !” she 
added, giving one of the pieces a close scrutiny : “See ! 
here is my Indian name, Leni Leoti^ scratched upon it 
with some sharp instrument.” 


376 


THE LEGACY. 


And on this,” said Huntly, holding up another. 

“ And on this,” repeated I, turning over the third. 

“They were intended for you, Prairie Flower,” ob- 
served Huntly, addressing her ; “ and together form no 
mean gift.” 

“ He was always kind to me, and I loved him,” re- 
joined Prairie Flower, artlessly, her eyes filling with 
tears. 

“ But where could so much gold, in this rough state, 
have been obtained ?” asked Huntly, turning to me. 

A sudden thought flashed through my mind, and I 
turned to Prairie Flower. 

“ Was Great Medicine ever much abroad ?” 

“ Never far from the tribe, since I first knew him,” 
was her answer. 

“ But the tribe has been roving ?” 

“ Yes, we have seldom spent a year at a time in one 
place.” 

“ Were you ever in California?” 

“ One season we quartered on a beautiful oasis in the 
Great Desert, as we termed it.” 

“ Ha ! then there is some grounds for my con- 
jecture and taking Huntly aside, I recalled to his 
mind the shiny sand we had there gathered, and added : 
“ I think we were right in our surmises of its being 
gold !” 

“True,” he answered, with a start ; “ I remember now, 
though I had completely forgotten the circumstance.” 

“And so had I, till this revived it.” 

“ Have you any of that sand with you, Frank ?” 

“ I have not. Our subsequent perils drove the matter 
from my mind ; and if any remained on my person when 
we arrived at Sutter’s, it was thrown away with the tat- 
tered garments that contained it.” 

“ Well, let it go !” rejoined Huntly, musingly; “let it 
go ! There is gold there, without doubt — and some day 
it will doubtless be the means of great speculation.” 

“ This being the case, my friend, suppose we make 
another tour, and ascertain for a certainty ? If true, our 
fortune is made.” 

Huntly looked at me seriously for a moment, with a 


THE LEGACY, 


377 


very peculiar expression of countenance, and then re- 
joined, in a decisive tone : 

“No, Frank ! not even a mine of gold would tempt 
me to encounter the perils of such a journey again. 
Suppose I were to prove successful and make a fortune 
— what then ? What is wealth, after all, that man should 
make himself a slave ? 'Tis here — ’tis there — ’tis gone. 
Look at my lamented father, for example ! One day he 
could count his thousands — the next he was a beggar — 
and the grave soon followed to cover a broken heart. 
Fortune is not happiness — therefore I’ll pay no court to 
the truant jade. Let those have wealth who crave it ; let 
them worship the golden Mammon ; for myself, let me 
be happy with little, and I ask no more. But, come ! I 
see Prairie Flower and the rest are waiting for us, and 
we must be on the move.” 

Joining the others, we made further search; but find- 
ing nothing new, we all mounted our horses and set for- 
ward — Prairie Flower in better spirits than I had ever 
seen her. Though in possession of the box, supposed to 
contain all she desired, yet she absolutely refused to open 
it, lest she might be tempted to an examination of its 
contents, and thus break her promise to the dying old 
man. 

Summer had already passed, and the mortal stroke of 
old Autumn was even now beginning to be felt on the 
mountains. The trees, which had waved their green 
leaves as an accompaniment to the music of the forest 
choir, were already changing color, as if in dread of the 
steady, onward strides of their annual, but ever-conquer- 
ing foe. The first process of decay had begun — but so 
beautifully begun, that one, as he gazed upon it, though 
it awakened a solemn, almost melancholy train of 
thought, could hardly wish it otherwise. As we ascended 
the mountains, higher and more high, the scene below 
us became enchanting in its variety. Far, far away, for 
miles upon miles, the eye roved over hill and plain ; 
while the soul, as it were, drank in the very essence of 
nature’s beauty. The atmosphere was cool and clear, and 
the sun brilliant, but not warm. In every direction there 
was something new for the eye to rest upon — something 


378 


THE LEGACY. 


new for the mind to ponder. I beheld distant mount- 
ains rising to the very skies — isolated, glistening and 
cold in their lonely grandeur— as one who has ventured 
to the topmost round of Ambition’s ladder, and scorns 
in his elevation all meaner objects grovelling in the dust 
below. I beheld lovely valleys, as yet untouched by the 
destroyer, still bright in their summer garments, through 
which purled silvery streams — the former doomed ere 
long to put on the withered shreds of mourning, and the 
latter to cease their murmurs in the icy fetters of the 
advancing Winter-King. In short, I beheld hills, and 
dales, and forests, and rolling prairies, and rivers, and 
rivulets, all spread before me in picturesque succession, 
and all more or less variegated with the many-hued man- 
tle of autumn. The scene was enchanting ; and as 
Prairie Flower, who with my friend had also been 
silently surveying it, observed, with a sigh : 

“ Most melancholy beautiful.” 

But lovely as was the view, I had but little time for 
contemplation ; for the long journey before us, and the 
lateness of the season, required us to hasten forward, 
that we might pass the mountains before the snowstorms 
and ice of winter should completely bar our way. We 
had yet some thirteen hundred miles to travel, and, with 
everything favorable, could not hope to reach our desti- 
nation in less than five or six weeks. Fortunately our 
animals were in good order, lightly laden, with no 
troublesome vehicles creaking and rumbling after, to 
delay us with bad roads and breaking accidents. 

Leaving Laramie Peak to our right, we struck across 
the Laramie Plains to the Sweet Water Mountains, and 
thence descended to the great Oregon trail, crossing the 
Rocky Mountains at the well-known South Pass. For 
the rest of the distance, our road was to some extent a 
traveled one, and our progress, with some little delays, 
very rapid. As nothing of unusual interest occurred on 
the route, I shall pass it over without a record. 

On the evening of the first day of November, 1843, we 
came in sight of the lights of Oregon City, which we 
hailed with three deafening cheers. 


A yo YF UL REUNION, 


379 


CHAPTER XLV. 


A JOYFUL REUNION. 



j|0 describe my feelings and those of Huntly 
when we halted within view of the dwellings 
containing those around the very tendrils of 
whose hearts our own were entwined, on 
whose happiness or misery our own were 
depending, would be impossible, and therefore I shall 
not attempt it. The day’s journey had been very severe 
— for we had all ridden hard, in order if possible to reach 
the village before nightfall. In this we had not succeeded ; 
but knowing we were near, we still pressed forward 
after night had set in, and, by nine o’clock in the evening, 
had come in sight of the glimmering lights of the little 
town. 

We now held a short consultation, which resulted in 
Huntly, Teddy and myself resolving to go forward, while 
Prairie Flower and her companions were to encamp and 
remain where they were through the night. Our object 
in this was to see our friends alone, and prepare them to 
receive our fair benefactress, whom we intended to intro- 
duce as an Indian maiden, and then leave matters to take 


their own course. 

Having at length arranged everything to our satis- 
faction, we rode forward, and, in less than half an hour, 
drew rein near the humble cottage of Mrs. Huntly. 

“ And is it here,” said Charles, as he gazed with a 
sigh upon the rude edifice, “that I again meet my dear 
mother and sister ? Alas, Frank, there is a change indeed 
in our fortune ! and now I feel it.” 

“ Repine not,” returned I ; “ but rather thank God 
that you are safe, and look forward to better days !” 

“I will not repine,” he said. “But, Frank, there is 
such an air of poverty here that I could not avoid giving 
vent to my thoughts.” 

As we spoke we dismounted, and, giving our horses 


380 


A yO YFUL RE UNION. 


in charge of Teddy — with orders to take good care of 
them, and seek another place of rest for himself — we ap- 
proached the door with trembling steps, and with con- 
flicting feelings of hope and fear. What if something 
had happened, and we should find a stranger in place of 
those we sought ? 

The house was tightly closed, but not unoccupied, as 
we could see by the light which here and there shone ‘ 
through a crevice. 

“ Go forward !” whispered Huntly ; and I advanced 
and rapped timidly on the rough door. 

To this there came no answer ; and I repeated it, but 
harder and louder. 

“ Who is there ?” said a soft voice from within. 

Gracious heavens ! how its tones thrilled me ! I knew 
it ! I would have known it among a million ! It was the 
voice of my own beloved Lilian ! 

“ A friend,” answered I, as with one hand I grasped 
the arm of Charles, who was now trembling with agi- 
tation. 

“Pardon me !” answered Lilian ; “but will you give 
me your name ? as it is already somewhat late, and there 
is no one within but mother and myself.” 

“And do you not know me, Lilian ?” 

“That voice!” I heard her exclaim; “that voice!” 
and the next moment there was an agitated rattling at 
the door, which instantly swung open, and revealed the 
idol of my thoughts standing before me, pale and 
trembling. 

“ Lilian !” I exclaimed ; “ thank God we meet again!” 
and in an instant she was folded in my embrace and 
weeping with joy. 

“Oh !” she ejaculated, looking up affectionately into 
my face: “oh, Francis, this is more than I have prayed 
for — more than I expected ! I did not look for you this 
season. But, ha !” she exclaimed, as the shadow of her 
brother, who had stolen in behind her unperceived, fell 
upon her vision ; “ we are not alone.” 

She turned suddenly round, and her eyes met the 
tearful ones of Charles, as, with outstretched arms, he 


A JOYFUL REUNION. 381 

stood ready to receive her, too much affected to utter a 
syllable. 

For a brief moment she remained speechless and 
motionless, as if fearing to believe her senses ; and then 
gasping, “ My brother !”'she staggered forward and sunk 
half fainting upon his breast. 

At this moment Mrs. Huntly, who had been on the 
point of retiring, but had been deterred by the sound of 
voices, entered the room from an adjoining apartment. 

“Whom have we here?” she said, as she advanced 
toward us, looking from one to the other inquiringly, 
but unable from the position of the light to see our feat- 
ures. “Francis!” she exclaimed, joyfully, as I took a 
step forward ; “Francis, my son, do I indeed behold you 
again !” and, ere the words were concluded, I found my- 
self closed in a motherly embrace. “ This is indeed a 
happy surprise !” she added warmly. 

“But there,” returned I, pointing to Charles, who, 
still straining Lilian to his breast, was now gazing upon 
his mother with that singular expression of intense 
rapture, which the imprisoned soul, struggling as it were 
for release, and choking all utterance, stamps upon 
every feature : “there,” said I, “a more happy surprise 
awaits you ;” and springing forward, I took the half un- 
conscious form of Lilian from the arms of my friend. 

For a moment mother and son stood face to face, 
gazing upon each other, completely overpowered by 
their feelings. 

“ Mother !” at length burst from the lips of Charles. 

“ My son I” 

And staggering forward, they fell upon each other’s 
neck, and gave their overcharged souls vent in tears. 

Por some time no one spoke ; and then raising her 
tearful eyes to Heaven, and in a voice of deep solemnity, 
Mrs. Huntly ejaculated : 

“ Almighty God ! I thank Thee for this moment of 
unclouded happiness I — for restoring the wanderer safe 
to the only parent he has on earth !” 

“Ay, the only parent !” added Charles, with a fresh 
burst of emotion ; “ the only one, dear mother ! My 
father — alas ! my father !” 


382 


A JOYFUL REUNION. 


He paused, overcome by his feelings. 

But 1 will not prolong the affecting scene. Suffice, 
that for more than an hour very little was said, except 
in the way of thanks to the Supreme Ruler for bringing 
us all safely together once more. And well might we 
be thankful to that watchful Providence, which had slum- 
bered not in our hours of grief and danger, but had 
brought us all out, as it were, from the very “ Valley of 
the Shadow of Death.” 

The first transports of joy over, we gradually grew 
calm ; and having formed a small circle before the cheer- 
ful fire : 

“ Now,” said Mrs. Huntly, “ let me hear something of 
my friends in Boston.” 

“ Alas ;” sighed I, my mind reverting at once to my 
own parents, “ I can give you no news from that quar- 
ter.” 

And have you not been home ?” she asked in 
surprise. 

I shook my head. 

“ Then you met Charles on the way, and he perhaps 
can tell me.^” and she turned to him inquiringly. 

“ Nay, mother,” he answered sadly, “ I have not seen 
the land of my nativity since I there parted from you.” 

“ Why, what means this ?” she asked, turning to me. 

“ Pardon me,” I said, in some embarrassment, “ if 
I once deceived you both ! — but I did it for the best.” 

“ Deceived us !” exclaimed both Lilian and her 
mother in a breath. “Pray explain yourself, Francis !” 
added the latter. 

“You remember I told you that when I parted from 
Charles he was going eastward ?” 

“ Well ? well ?” 

“ But I did not add that it was only intended as a 
parting of a few minutes, and that when I met you on 
the mountains I believed him lost to us all forever.” 

“ Lost?” cried Mrs Huntly. 

“ Lost ?” echoed Lilian. 

“ Lost !” rejoined I. “ Ay, lost indeed — for I believed 
him dead.” 

“Oh, speak, Francis!” exclaimed Mrs. Huntly, 
greatly agitated, and looking from me to Charles, and 


A JOYFUL REUNION. 383 

from Charles to me : “ speak, Francis, and tell us what 
you mean !” 

“ Charles,” I returned in a trembling voice, “ was 
taken prisoner by a band of guerrillas ; but I — I — 
believed him dead — for no trace of him could be found.” 

“A prisoner? You, Charles, my son, a prisoner?” 
cried his mother ; and again throwing herself upon his 
neck, she burst into tears ; while Lilian, gliding up to 
his side, took his hand in silence, and gazed mournfully 
upon him with swimming eyes. 

“ Is it so, Charles ?” asked his mother. “ Is it so ? 
Have you indeed been in captivity ?” 

“ I have, dear mother ! I have !” he answered, in a 
voice choked with emotion. 

Drawing back, Mrs. Huntly gazed upon him with a 
look of unutterable affection ; and then turning to me 
she said, somewhat coldly : 

“Francis, how could you deceive me! I did not 
think this of you.” 

I was about to reply, when Lilian turned quickly 
round and confronted her mother : 

“ Mother,” she said, “do not speak in that manner ! 
If Francis did not tell us all, it was because he feared to 
give us unnecessary pain. Was it not so?” she asked, 
appealing to me with her soft, blue eyes. 

“ It was !” I replied, struggling to command my feel- 
ings ; “ it was, dear Lilian — God bless you for an angel, 
it was !” 

“I crave your pardon !” said Mrs. Huntly, taking my 
hand. “I did not intend to wound your feelings, Fran- 
cis, and sincerely believe you did all for the best. But 
the suddenness of the news, the shock, surprised and 
alarmed me, and I did not heed what I said. I now 
know it was all for the best ; for had I known that 
Charles was lost, I fear the result might have been fatal. 
Thank God,” she continued, turning again to her son, 
“ that you are safe before me now ! Oh, Charles, my 
son,” she added, covering her eyes with her hands to con- 
ceal her emotion, “you must never, never, leave me 
again !” 


3^4 


A JOYFUL REUNION, 


“Never, mother,” he answered, solemnly; “never, 
while life remains !” 

“And this,” said Lilian, turning fondly to me, “is 
why you became so agitated whenever I mentioned my 
brother ! I understand it all now. And this, too, is the 
cause of your abrupt departure, which has ever appeared 
so singular to me, and over which Eva and I have specu- 
lated many an hour without solving the mystery.” 

“And did my departure indeed appear so singular, 
sweet Lilian?” I inquired, in surprise. “Did I not tell 
you I was going to seek your brother ?” 

“ Ay ! but you forget you did not tell me he was lost 
— and we, you know, supposed him then in Boston. 
There was nothing so remarkable in your going to meet 
him, as in the hurried manner in which you departed, 
without any previous notice, as if you had heard bad 
tidings. It was this that put us to conjecture.” 

“ True, I did overlook that.” 

“Well, well, dear Francis, never mind ; you are here 
again ; and now we must hear the tale of your adven- 
tures, and how you found Charles ?” 

“Yes,” rejoined Mrs. Huntly, “I am all anxiety to 
hear the story.” 

“ Who shall tell it ?” asked I. 

“You, Frank,” answered Charles. “You can tell it 
better than I.” 

The tale I told : beginning with the loss of my friend 
at Pueblo de los Angelos, and its subsequent effect upon 
me, up to the time when I met with his mother and sister 
near the South Pass of the Rocky Mountains. I then 
narrated my last adventure, and gave a brief description 
of the scenes already laid before the reader, and how I 
had, little by little, traced Charles to the ver)" spot of his 
captivity, only to find that another had released him. 
This led me to speak more fully than I had previously 
done of Prairie Flower, whom I again described as a 
beautiful being, and as good as she was beautiful. I 
recalled to mind how she had, at the risk of her life, 
appeared to warn the emigrants on that memorable night 
while journeying over the Rocky Mountains. I then 
reverted to Charles, and how I had found him in com- 


A yo YF UL RE UNION. 


385 


pany with the tribe. In fact, I gave an outline of all the 
principal incidents of interest, carefully avoiding any 
allusion to the attachment existing between my friend 
and Prairie Flower, as also that we had any conjectures 
as to who the latter might be, or that she had accom- 
panied us on our last journey. 

During the recital, both Mrs. Huntly and Lilian 
listened eagerly, occasionally interrupting me with some 
question or exclamation, when the incidents detailed 
were unusually exciting. In fact, whenever I described 
a scene of danger to myself, Lilian would press close to 
my side, and gaze up into my face, pale and breathless, 
sometimes shuddering at the picture called up in her 
mind, and seem to hang upon my words as intently as 
though they were actually imparting life or death to him 
she loved. Nay, more than this : On several occasions 
did she become so lost in the thrilling tale, as to utter 
exclamations of horror ; and then, remembering where 
she was, she would clasp my hand with a hearty pressure, 
and in a low voice thank God for my deliverance and 
present safety. 

“ And where is this beautiful Indian maiden now ?" 
she asked when I had done. “ What a singular being! 
Oh, I should love her so for her goodness, and her kind- 
ness to those so dear to me.” 

“Ay, Lilian, you would indeed love her,” I answered ; 
“ for she is one of the sweetest beings you ever knew.” 

“ Always excepting Eva,” she rejoined playfully. 

“Nay, Lilian, I will except no one but your own 
sweet self.” 

“ But what has become of this Prairie Flower ?” in- 
quired Mrs. Huntly. “You did not tell us where you 
had left her.” 

“ And what if I should say she is near at hand V 

“ Near at hand ?” repeated Lilian. 

“Explain, Francis ?” added Mrs. Huntly. 

“ She crossed the mountains with us.” 

“ Indeed ! and where is she now ?” 

“ Within sight of the lights of this great city.” 

“Is it possible ! And why did you not bring her 
here at once ?” 

17 


386 


A yO YF UL RE UNION, 


“ Why, it was already late ; and as she has several 
companions with her, we thought it better for the party 
to encamp and remain till morning, while we went for- 
ward and prepared you to receive them.” 

“Oh, I am so anxious to see her!” rejoined Lilian ; 
“ and so will Eva be when she hears of her. While she 
remains with us we will treat her as a sister.” 

“ I believe you,” returned I, pointedly, and fixing my 
eye upon Huntly, who blushed, and turned his head 
aside, but made no remark. 

“Oh, what a surprise awaits Eva on the morrow!” 
pursued Lilian. “ She does not dream you are here ; 
and yet she has been praying for your return, with 
brother Charles, every day since you left.” 

“I thank her, from my heart, for her interest in our 
welfare ! She is a noble girl.” 

“ She is indeed !” rejoined Lilian, enthusiastic in 
praise of her friend ; “ and I love her as a sister — which 
I hope she may be ere long,” she added, playfully, turn- 
ing to her brother, who appeared not a little embarrassed. 
“ Oh, Charles,” continued Lilian, pursuing her train of 
thought, “ if ever one being loved another withoat see- 
ing him, dear Eva loves you — for your name is ever on 
her tongue.” 

“ I am very grateful for it, certainly,” replied Charles, 
evasively, feeling himselCpressed for an answer. 

“ And well you may be, for her equal does not live !” 
persisted Lilian, with spirit, loth to quit the subject. 

“ Do not assert that !” returned 1, with a smile. “ You 
forget that Eva had a sister !” 

“But who knows anything of her sister, Francis?” 

“Ay, who knows?” answered I, reflecting on what I 
had suspected, and on what the morrow might reveal. 
“ But come, Lilian, since Eva has so much place in your 
thoughts, tell me how it has fared with you both since 
last we met.” 

“ Oh, as well as could be expected, and you away,” 
she ansv/ered. “We have walked, and ridden, and 
played, and sung, and read, and talked, and wondered 
fifty times a day where you were, and when you would 
return, and if Charles would corne with you, and so on. 


A yo YF UL RE UNION, 


3S7 


Tc sum up, the summer and most of the autumn have 
passed — but somehow the time has been more tedious 
than I could have wished. There is not the society here 
to please us, and on the whole we have not been very 
well contented. There has been quite an addition of 
settlers here during the past season, and the village has 
much improved since you saw it. In fact, it begins to 
assume the aspect of a civilized town ; but still I feel I 
could never be happy here.” 

“ And would you like to return to the East ?” 

“Oh, dearly!” 

“ You shall start in the spring, then I” I rejoined. 

“ Oh, that is joyful news ! And Eva shall go also ?” 

' “ All that desire to accompany us, Lilian.” 

“ Eva will be so rejoiced at this ! But mother has in- 
vested what little means she had in the purchase of land.” 

“ Well, that can be sold again : and it will have lost 
nothing in value, since the town has begun to flourish.” 

“ And will you go, mother ?” asked Lilian. 

“As my children desire,” answered Mrs. Huntly. “I 
shall leave all to you, my children. But, come! Charles 
is about to tell us of his captivity; and, although it is 
late, I am anxious to hear his tale.” 

Thus ended my conversation for the time with Lilian ; 
and forming a half circle around her brother, we all at- 
tentively listened to his thrilling narrative. 

By the time he had concluded, the night was far ad- 
vanced ; and though I had a thousand things to say to 
Lilian, I deferred them all to another opportunity, and 
retired to rest with a lighter heart than I had known for 
many a long year. 


388 


THEY MEET AT LAST 


CHAPTER XLVl. 

THEY MEET AT LAST. 

HEN I awoke on the following morning, the 
bright sun was already streaming through the 
half closed shutter of my room. Huntly was 
up and dressed and standing by my bed. 

“Come, Frank, the sun is up before you, 
and breakfast is waiting !” he said. 

At first I felt a little bewildered, as a person some- 
times will in a strange place. But it was only moment- 
ary ; and remembering where I was, I sprung to the 
floor, dressed hastily, and accompanied my friend to the 
larger apartment, where I found the table smoking with 
hot viands, and Lilian and her mother ready to welcome 
me with sweet smiles and cordial salutations. 

“ And how did you rest ?” inquired Mrs. Huntly. 

“Well !“ I answerecj. “ I slept soundly, I assure you, 
or I should have made my appearance ere this.” 

“ I am glad to hear it, my son, for you needed rest. 
Lilian and I were not so fortunate ; for the unusual 
events of last night drove all slumber from us, and we 
could do nothing but talk of you and Charles.” 

“ I fear our presence, then,” said I, smiling, “ has 
robbed you of a sweet night’s rest ?” 

“ Do not be alarmed,” returned Lilian, archly. “ Your 
presence has been more beneficial than sleep, I assure 
you — and never did I behold daylight with more joy.” 

“ That you might escape from your reflections — eh ! 
Lilian ?” 

“That I might see you again,” she rejoined, with one 
of her sweetest smiles. 

“A kiss for that !” cried I, gaily. 

And I took it. 

The morning meal passed off cheerfully with all save 
Charles, who appeared somewhat gloomy, at times ab- 
stracted, and rarely spoke. 



THEY MEET AT LAST. 


389 


“What is the matter, Charley?” inquired I. “One 
would look to see you cheerful, if not gay ; and yet you 
are silent and thoughtful.” 

“ I feel a little depressed in spirits,” he answered. 
“But never mind me. I shall be myself in time. At 
present I am soberly inclined.” 

“ Fatigue, perhaps ?” suggested his mother. 

“ My father !” he answered, solemnly. 

Instantly a dead silence prevailed, and the tears 
sprung to the eyes of both Mrs. Huntly and Lilian. 

“But, come,” added Charles, after a pause, “do not 
let me make you sad, my friends ! You mourned my 
father bitterly, long ere I heard of his death. You must 
remember my cause for grief is recent.” 

“Alas!” sighed Mrs. Huntly; “we all mourn him 
still, and ever must.” 

Another gloomy silence succeeded. 

“I saw Teddy this morning,” at length pursued 
Charles, anxious to divert our thoughts from the painful 
channel into which his remarks had drawn them, “and 
I dispatched him to Prairie Flower, requesting the 
presence of herself and friends. She and they will soon 
be here.” 

“And I,” added Lilian, “ have seen Eva. It would 
have done you good to have witnessed her surprise and 
delight, on hearing the joyful tidings I imparted. I ex- 
pect her here every moment. Ha I she is here now !” 
she added, rising ; “ I know her step ;” and hastening to 
the door, she conducted the object of her remarks and 
Madame Mortimer into the apartment. 

I hurriedly arose and advanced to meet them. 

“Oh, I am so rejoiced to see you, Francis!” cried 
Eva, springing forward and extending both hands, 
which I shook warmly. “ This is a joyful surprise 
indeed !” 

“And I,” said Madame Mortimer, coming up, “ I, too, 
believe me, am most happy to welcome you back, as it 
were, to the land of the living ! We have felt your loss 
severely — most severely, sir !” and the pressure of her 
hands, as she said this, convinced me that her words were 
not idly spoken. 


390 


THEY MEET AT LAST. 


“ I feel myself most fortunate and liappy in having 
such friends^'" I replied, emphasizing the last word ; 
“ and, I assure you, 1 am as rejoiced to meet them as they 
can be to see me. But, come ! let me present you to my 
long lost friend !” and turning to Huntly, who had 
risen from his seat, I introduced both mother and daugh- 
ter together. 

Hun'.ly bowed low to each, and, with unusual em- 
barrassment for him, said it gave him extreme pleasure 
to meet with those whom he had seen years before, in a 
moment of peril, and of whom he had since heard so 
much from me. 

I particularly noted the countenance of Eva, who now 
beheld Charles Huntly for the first time. As I presented 
her, she turned pale, then crimsoned to the eyes, then 
took a faltering step forward, as if to meet him, but 
finally paused and let her eyes sink to the floor, seemingly 
greatly embarrassed. 

Not so with Madame Mortimer. With a quick step 
she instantly advanced toward Charles, who met her 
half way, seized his proffered hand, and frankly said, in 
a voice tremulous with emotion : 

“ God bless you, Charles Huntly ! I am most happy 
to behold you. You, sir, and your friend, both strangers 
then, saved the life of my daughter, at the risk of your 
own. You have both had a fond mother’s prayers for 
your safety and happiness ever since; but until now I 
have never had an opportunity of expressing to you in- 
dividually my most lasting obligations and she turned 
away her face to conceal the springing tears. 

“You owe me no obligations,” returned my friend 
frankly. ‘Mf ever there were any due, they have long 
since been canceled in your kindness to those I love. I 
did but my duty ; and if the adventure was perilous at 
the time, it certainly brought its own reward afterward 
in a satisfied conscience.” 

Here he rested his eyes upon Eva, with an expression 
as of uncertainty wliether to advance to her side or re- 
main where he was. At the same time Eva looked up, 
their eyes met, and, with a simultaneous movement, each 
approached and took the other by the hand, 


THEY MEET AT LAST. 


391 

“ Oh, sir !” began Eva, in a timid voice, and then 
paused, while her snowy hand trembled with agitation. 
Then making a struggle to appear calm, she added: “I 
— I — am very — very grateful and the last word died 
away in an almost inaudible murmur. 

What a perplexing predicament for my friend ! Be- 
fore him stood the first being he had ever loved, beyond 
the love filial and fraternal. She stood before him, face 
to face, her hand trembling in his, and her voice sound- 
ing the sweet words of a grateful heart in his ear. That 
voice and those words which once would have made him 
frantic with rapture ; which once would have sent the 
hot blood to his heart, only that it might again leap in 
burning streams through his swollen veins ; which once, 
in short, would have made him the happiest of mortals. 
How was it now ? Time and circumstances work great 
changes in the human heart, and my friend was changed 
—at least changed in that impassioned sentiment he had 
once felt for the object before him. He was not cold and 
indifferent — not insensible to her lovely charms and no- 
ble virtues. No ! he was affected ^deeply affected — 
affected to tears by her look and language. He loved 
her still — but with a modified love— the love of a brother 
for a sister — the love which is founded on esteem, for the 
high and noble qualities possested by another, without 
regard to mere personalities. There was no ardency — 
no passion. No! all this was gone — transferred to 
another. Prairie Flower alone held the heart of Charles 
Huntly. 

“Miss Mortimer,” replied my friend — “or rather let 
me call you Eva — I am most happy to meet you ; and 
feel it is I,' rather than you, who ought to be grateful, for 
having been permitted to do an act which has already re- 
paid me ten-fold. I hold that every virtuous deed bears 
with it its own reward. Pray, be seated, and we will talk 
further !” 

“Ay,” chimed in Madame Mortimer, “and you shall 
give us, Charles, some of your own adventures. Lilian 
has already told me something, and I am anxious to hear 
more. She says you are indebted to a beautiful Indian 


392 


THEY MEET AT LAST 


maiden for both life and liberty — certainly a heavy obli- 
gation on your part.” 

“ I feel it to be so,” rejoined Huntly, changing color. 

“And who is this Indian girl ? and to what tribe does 
she belong? The daughter of some great chief, I sup- 
pose — for in all novels, you know, the heroine must be 
some great personage, either acknowledged or un- 
known.” 

“But you forget, madam,” returned Huntly, smiling, 
“that the heroine in this case, as you are pleased to term 
Prairie Flower, is an individual in real life ; whereas in 
novels the heroine alone exists in the imagination of the 
author, and can be whatever he may see proper to make 
her. Therefore you should not be surprised should she 
turn out to be some humble individual.” 

“ Well,” answered Madame Mortimer, “ all romance 
is much alike, whether imaginary or real ; for the novel- 
ist, if true to his calling, must draw his scenes from real 
life ; and hence I may be permitted to suppose the hero- 
ine in this case a person of some consequence.” 

“And so she may be for what we know to the con- 
trary,” said I, joining in. 

“ And do you not know who she is. then ?” asked 
Madame Mortimer. 

“We know notliing positively.” 

“ Is she not the daughter of a chief ?” 

“No.” 

“ Is she beautiful?” asked Eva, giving me a peculiar 
look. 

“ Very beautiful,” replied I, glancing at Charles, who 
colored and seemed a little confused. 

Both Eva and her mother caught the expression of 
Huntly’s countenance, and the latter said : 

“Then perhaps Charles has lost his heart to her?” 

Eva turned to him quickly, with a searching glance, 
and immediately added : 

“ I believe he rias — for he changes color at the mere 
mention of her name ;” and her own features, as she 
spoke, grew a shade paler. 

“One has his heart that is nearer at hand,” observed 


THEY MEET AT LAST, 


393 


Lilian, who, with her mother, had been standing a silent 
spectator of what had passed. 

“ I pray you drop this jesting !” said Huntly, with an 
effort to appear careless and unconcerned. 

“ Nay, but I must know more of this singular person- 
age,” pursued Madame Mortimer, “ for I feel deeply in- 
terested in her. A girl that could and would do what 
she has done, can be no ordinary being.” 

“ So think I,” added Mrs. Huntly. 

“And so you will find her,” I rejoined. 

“ I am dying to see her,” said Lilian. 

“She must have taken great interest in the fate of 
Charles, to seek him out in captivity,” observed Madame 
Mortimer. “ Is it not so, Francis?” 

“ Her motto of life is to do all the good she can,” I 
answered, rather evasively. “ She would take an inter- 
est in any one who chanced to be in trouble.” 

“ God bless her, then, for a true heart !” was the 
response. 

“ But how came she to think of visiting Oregon ?” 
asked Eva. 

“ We persuaded her to accompany us hither,” I re- 
plied. “ As she once saved both our lives, and afterward 
ransomed Charles from slavery, not forgetting that 
night, which you all remember, when she gave us timely 
warning of danger, whereby much bloodshed was 
averted, I thought you would like to see and thank her.” 

“ And you were right,” said Lilian. “ Oh, Eva, we 
will love her as a sister, will we not ?” 

“Certainly,” answered Eva, rather abstractedly, and 
evidently not so well pleased with the idea of her being 
present as Lilian ; “certainly, we will love her as a sis- 
ter.” 

Could a faint, a very faint, spark of jealousy have 
begun to burn in her breast? I observed her closely, and 
drew my own conclusions. 

Meantime Huntly had remained seated, apparently 
indifferent to everything said. Was he indifferent ? 

And why did Eva suddenly become so thoughtful and 
abstracted? Was she thinking of Prairie Flower? and 
did she fear a rival in an Indian maiden ? — for I had 
never intimated she was other than an Indian. 


17 ’ 


394 


THEY MEET AT LAST 


My design, as previously stated, was to bring all par- 
ties together, and leave matters to take their own course ; 
and I now felt anxious for all the actors to be on the 
stage, that I might witness the denouement. 

For some time the conversation went on, gradually 
changing from Prairie Flower to my friend, who was 
called upon to narrate some of his adventures. 

Anxious to entertain those present, and divert his 
thoughts from other subjects, he began the recital of a 
thrilling scene, in which he was an inactive, though not 
unconcerned spectator, and had already reached the 
most exciting part, holding his listeners breathless with 
interest, when Teddy entered the apartment in haste, ex- 
claiming : 

“Your honor — ” Then pausing, as he saw who were 
present, and making a low bow, he quickly added : “ Me 
most obadient respicts to all o' yees, by token I’ve saan 
yees afore.” 

“ Well, well, Teddy — have they come?” inquired I, 
impatiently. 

“ Troth, and they has, your honor ! and that’s jist 
what I ’s a-going to say, whin the likes o’ so many beau- 
thiful ladies put me out a bit.” 

“ And where are they now, Teddy ?” 

“Jist round the corner, as ye may say.” 

“Remain here, and I will soon set Prairie Flower be- 
fore you," said I, addressing the others, who were now 
all excitement to behold my fair friend. 

And I hurried from the cot, followed by Teddy. 


THE LONG LOST FOUND. 


395 


CHAPTER XLVII. 

THE LONG LOST FOUND. 

FOUND Prairie Flower seated upon her lit- 
tle pony, in company with her Indian friends, 
pale and agitated, but looking more beauti- 
ful than ever. She wore a plain, neat dress, 
without ornament, which fitted her person 
well, and displayed her airy, symmetrical figure to the 
best advantage. Her dark, glossy hair was braided and 
arranged, if not a la mode^ at least in most exquisite taste, 
and altogether her appearance was such as qould not 
offend the searching gaze of the most fastidious critic. 
All trace of the Indian was gone ; and gazing upon her 
sweet, modest countenance, one could hardly realize that 
her life, for the most part, had been spent in the wilder- 
ness, among the red children of the forest. 

“And how fares my fair friend this morning ?“ I said, 
with a smile, as I came up. 

“ But indifferently well,” she answered, dismounting. 

“ I fear you did not rest well last night.” 

“ I did not rest at all,” she replied. “ How could I 
rest, sir, with such momentous thoughts as kept me com- 
pany ? Oh, sir,” she added vehemently, placing her hand 
upon her hearr, “ here, here were strange feelings, strange 
emotions, strange yearnings, but all powerful as strange, 
and they kept my senses from slumber. Every nerve 
was then strained, and I felt strong. But now — I am 
•^veak — very weak ;” and as she spoke, she rested her 
hand on the neck of her little pony for support. 

“ Come,” said I, advancing to her side, “ take my arm, 
and I will conduct you hence. It is intense excitement 
which so unnerves you ; but you must not give way to 
it. It is necessary, for the present, that you should be 
calm, and not lose your wonted presence of mind.” 

“And whither would your conduct me?” she timidly 
inquired. 



396 


THE LONG LOST FOUND. 


“ Within this humble cottage.” 

“And — and — are — they there — of — of whom you 
spoke ?” she fairly gasped. 

“Yes ; they await your presence, to thank you for all 
your kindness.” 

“ And do — do — they know T- she asked, emphasizing 
the last word, clasping my hand, and fixing her dark 
eyes, with a singular expression, upon mine. 

“They know nothing, Prairie Flower, but that you 
are the author of many noble deeds, for which they are 
your debtors, and for which they are anxious to return 
you heart-felt tlianks. My friend and I thought it best 
to bring you together without even hinting our sur- 
mises.” 

“ It was a happy thought in you,” she replied, with 
some reassurance ; “ I am glad you did so ; I am glad 
they know nothing ; and I will try to be calm and appear 
indifferent. But, sir, believe me, this is a great trial ! I 
have been used to danger all my life ; I have even stood 
upon the field of carnage, where the fierce battle raged, 
and the deadly missiles were whirling past me, fairly 
hissing in my ear, and there have striven to succor the 
wounded ; I have had my life in danger many times, 
when I believed every moment would be my last ; I have, 
for many years, seen much hardship and peril ; but never, 
sir, a moment like the present ; never a time when I felt 
my soul shrink within me, and refuse to do my bidding 
as now — never a time when I had less self-command and 
felt I needed it more. I am about to enter the presence 
of those whose blood, perchance, runs in my veins ; and 
the doubt, the uncertainty, the hopes and fears, which are 
based upon this bare possibility, are mighty in their 
strength. Oh, sir, such wild, strange feelings as rush 
over me at the thought, are beyond the utterance of 
mortal tongue — words could not express them. But I 
will say no more. I keep them waiting. I will nerve 
myself. I am ready.” 

“ But perhaps your friends here had better wait till 
this first interview is over.” 

“True,” she added, “ they must not witness it and 


THE LONG LOST FOUND. 


397 


turning, she addressed a few words to them, and then 
signified that she was ready. 

At this moment my eye fell upon several of the 
villagers, who were sauntering toward us, attracted, some 
of them perhaps by curiosity, and others by the news of 
my arrival. As I did not care to see any at present, I 
said a word to Prairie Flower, and we hastened our steps 
to the threshold of the cottage. 

“Courage !” I whispered, and led her in with a falter- 
ing step. 

All eyes were instantly fastened upon her, and the 
united mental comment was, “How beautiful !’’ Prairie 
Flower, pale and trembling, could not return their gaze, 
but sunk her own to the ground. 

“My friends,” I said, “1 herewith present you our 
fair benefactress, to whom two of us at least, if not all 
present, are indebted for our lives. This is the Prairie 
Flower of whom you have so ofeen heard ; and, taking 
a slight liberty with her name. I may be permitted to 
term her the Flower of the Wilderness.” 

As I spoke, each of the ladies rose and advanced to 
meet her, but Lilian was the first to gain her side. With 
a quick step she came forward, and, taking the inactive 
hands of Prairie Flower in her own, said, in a frank, 
affectionate tone : 

“ Welcome, sweet maiden, to the home of those who, 
already love you for your many virtues ! I have — ” 

At this moment Prairie Flower raised her eyes to 
those of the speaker, whose countenance suddenly 
changed to a look of bewildered surprise ; and taking a 
step backward, she clasped her hands and ejaculated : 

“ Good heavens ! how remarkable !” 

“ The charm works,” whispered I to my friend, who 
had silently joined me. 

He pressed my hand nervously, but said nothing. 

“Yes, welcome to our humble abode. Prairie Flower,” 
said Mrs. Huntly, who, her gaze riveted upon the fair 
maiden, had not as yet noticed the surprise and agitation 
of her daughter. “Eh ! what! how!” she added the next 
moment, as the dark eyes of Prairie Flower in turn 
rested upon hers ; and she glanced quickly toward Eva, 


398 


THE LONG LOST FOUND. 


Madame Mortimer and Lilian, and then back again upon 
Prairie Flower, as if uncertain what to think or how to 
act. 

“I thank you — for — for — your kindness!” faltered 
Prairie Flower, again dropping her eyes to the ground, 
and evidently scarcely able to support herself from 
sinking. 

At the moment Mrs. Huntly spoke, Eva had extended 
her hand within a step of Prairie Flower, and her lips 
were just parted to utter a welcome, when the same look, 
which had surprised the former, arrested her motions and 
held her spell-bound, as if suddenly transformed to a 
statue of marble. 

But it was Madame Mortimer who now fixed my 
whole attention. She had come up a little behind the 
others, with an expression of patronizing, benevolent 
curiosity on her fine, matronly features. The first glance 
at Prairie Flower had changed the idle look of curiosity 
to one of surprise at her maiden beauty and the absence 
of that distinguishing mark of the Indian which she had 
expected to find. The next moment she evidently be- 
came struck with her strong resemblance to Eva, which 
had so surprised each of the others ; and a sudden vague, 
wild thought — a suspicion — a something undefinable — 
rushed over her half bewildered brain ; and her features 
grew ashy pale, her bosom heaved, and her very lips 
turned white with internal emotions. 

But it was when Prairie Flower spoke that you 
should have seen her. There was something in that 
voice that seemed to thrill every nerve, and then take 
away all power of motion — suspend every animal func- 
tion. At the first sound, she leaned a little forward, one 
hand, unconsciously as it were, stretched toward the 
speaker, and the other instinctively clasping her fore- 
head ; while the blood, rushing upward, crimsoned her 
features, and then, retreating to her heart, left them paler 
than ever. Her lips parted, her eyes seemed starting from 
their sockets, her heaving breast ceased its throbbing, 
and she stood transfixed to the ground, motionless and 
mute, apparently without life, or only that life of sur- 
prised and bewildered inaction which the master of the 


THE LONG LOST FOUND. 


399 


passions sometimes transfuses into the otherwise in- 
animate abject of his creation. It was a strange and im- 
pressive picture, and one that would have made the fame 
and fortune of any artist who could have accurately 
transferred it to canvas. 

A momentary silence prevailed, a deathly silence, that 
seemingly had in it the awful calm preceding the fright- 
ful tempest. For a brief space no one moved, no one 
spoke, and, I may add, no one breathed ; for the internal 
excitement had suspended respiration. There they stood, 
as I have described them, a wonderful group — sweet 
Prairie Flower as the central figure and object of interest, 
the cynosure of all eyes, and, if I may be permitted the 
expression, the very soul of all thought. Just behind 
Prairie Flower stood Huntly, my hand clasped in his and 
suffering from its pressure. 

Madame Mortimer was the first to move — the first to 
break the silence. Suddenly taking a step forward, be- 
tween Mrs. Huntly and Eva, and clasping her hands be- 
fore her, her eyes still riveted upon Prairie Flower, she 
exclaimed, in a hoarse whisper, that had something se- 
pulchral in its sound : 

“ Merciful God ! who are you ? Speak ! speak ! In 
Heaven’s name, who are you ?” 

Prairie Flower looked up wildly, clasped her hands, 
fixed her eyes upon the other, and trembled violently, 
but made no answer. 

“ Who are you ?” cried Madame Mortimer again. 
“ For God’s sake, speak ! and break this terrible spell of 
painful, bewildering uncertainty ! Speak ! I charge you, 
speak !” 

But the lips of Prairie Flower gave forth no sound. 

“ Speak you !” continued Madame Mortimer, wildly, 
appealing to me : “ Speak any! speak all ! but speak some- 
body ! and tell me I am not in a dream — a dream from 
which it would be terrible to wake and know it but a 
dream !" 

“ You do not dream,” said I ; “and, I have every rea- 
son to believe, are standing in the presence of ” 

“ Whom ?” she gasped. 

“ Your long lost daughter /” 


400 


MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 


“ Ah !” she shrieked : God of mercy ! I thought so !” 
and, staggering forward, she threw out her arms, fell 
heavily upon the breast of Prairie Flower, and swooned 
in her embrace. 


CHAPTER XLVIII. 

MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 

O describe minutely what occurred during the 
first half hour after this singular meeting be- 
tween mother and daughter, is wholly beyond 
my power — for I was too much excited myself 
to note anything distinctly. For a time all 
was uproar and confusion — persons running to and fro, 
calling for this thing and that, and uttering exclamations 
of alarm, surprise and bewilderment. 

Madame Mortimer was borne in an unconscious state 
to an adjoining apartment, where such restoratives as 
could be had were speedily applied, for a long time with- 
out success ; while Prairie Flower, more dead than alive, 
was conducted to a seat ; where Eva, the first alarm for 
her mother over, flew to embrace her, to twine her arms 
around her neck, call her “ Dear, dear sister !” and weep 
and laugh alternately as one insane. 

Lilian and her mother seemed completely bewildered; 
and were now with Madame Mortimer, and anon with 
Prairie Flower, aiding the recovery of the one, wonder- 
ing over the other, and continually uttering, “How 
strange ! how strange !” 

Charles, pale as a corpse, had sunk upon a seat, and, 
with his face buried in his hands, sat in silence ; while I, 
after running up and down the room several times, found 
myself, much to my surprise, alone in the center of the 
apartment and dancing for very joy. 

At last everything began to assume a more tranquil 
and sane appearance. Prairie Flower found vent to her 



MOTHER AND DAUGHTER, 


401 


feelings in a flood of tears upon the breast of Eva, who, 
as she put in now and then a soothing word, begging the 
other to be calm, mingled her own tears with her sister’s; 
while Lilian and her mother wept in sympathy of joy; 
and my own eyes, by the spontaneous action of an over- 
^ flowing soul, would, in spite of myself, occasionally grow 
dim. Madame Mortimer, too, gradually regained her 
senses ; and, looking hurriedly about her, anxiously in- 
quired for her long lost daughter. Prairie Flower was 
at once conducted to her side, whither we all followed to 
witness the interview. 

For something like a minute, Madame Mortimer 
gazed upon her daughter without speaking, during which 
her features displayed all the varying expressions of a 
mother’s tender, yearning love for a long lost child. 
Then taking the hands of Prairie Flower, she glanced 
along the arms, and trembled like an aspen. 

“It is my child !” at length escaped her lips, in that 
deep tone by which the very soul gives utterance : “ It is 
my child ! the long-lost — the sadly-wept — the deeply- 
mourned ! Yes — the lost is found — the dead restored to 
life !” Then pausing, clasping her hands and looking 
upward, she added : “ God ! all merciful, all wise, and 
all just — for this I thank Thee, from the inner depths of 
a grateful heart ! This moment’s happiness, oh God, 
hath canceled long years of suffering and sorrow ; and 
henceforth the study of my life shall be to glorify Thy 
holy name.” 

During this brief, solemn, but heart-felt offering of 
gratitude to the Great Author of the Universe, Prairie 
Flower gradually sunk upon her knees beside the bed on 
which the speaker was lying, and, covering her face with 
her hands, appeared to be lost in silent devotion. Then 
she arose, and, gazing upon Madame Mortimer, with a 
look of ineffable affection, she uttered the single word 
“ Mother !” threw herself upon the breast of the latter, 
was strained to her heart, and the tears of both mingled 
together. 

It was a touching scene. 

“And now, my sweet child,” said Madame Mortimer 
pressing her lips warmly to the other’s, “ my long lost 


402 


MO THER AND DA UGH TER. 


Evaline Mortimer — for by that name, which you bore in 
infancy, you must henceforth be known— tell me some- 
thing of yourself ? and how you came to be found among 
the Indians ?” 

Prairie Flower — or Evaline, as I will hereafter term 
her — started, turned pale, and sighed heavily, but did not 
reply. At once I comprehended her thoughts and hast- 
ened to relieve her ; for I saw in her look a secret dread, 
lest the unreveaied secret in her possession might even 
now dash the cup of joy from her lips, by proving her 
the child of another. 

“ She knows but little of her own history,” I began ; 
and then 1 went on to recount our first suspicions as to 
whom she might be, and what had followed, up to her 
finding the hidden box, which probably contained a state- 
ment of the facts, but which she, for reasons explained, 
had not yet examined. 

“ Alas,” sighed Evaline, “and that is what troubles 
me now ! I fear there may have been some mistake ; 
and if, oh God ! there ” 

•“ Give yourself no uneasiness, my child !” interrupted 
Madame Mortimer; “for you are my child, I feel and 
know ; and, for my own satisfaction, I would never seek 
other proof than what I have found, your likeness to 
Eva, and a mother’s yearnings. But if you have any 
doubt, examine your left arm, and you there will find a 
scar, in the. form of a quarter moon, which was the result 
of an accident to Evaline Mortimer in her infancy.” 

Evaline started, and hurriedly sought for the proof. 
We all pressed forward to examine the arm. There, sure 
enough, just below the elbow, the identical scar could be 
traced — dim, it is true, but still the scar of the quarter 
moon. 

Evaline gazed upon it for a moment, pale and faint 
with joyful emotions ; and then, turning her soft, dark 
eyes above, with the sublime look of a saint, and clasp- 
ing her hands, she said, solemnly : 

“ God, I thank Thee !” 

“ My sister — my sweet, long lost sister !” said Eva, 
affectionately, gently twining her arms around the neck- 


MO THER AND DA UGH TER. 


403 


of the other and gazing upward also ; “ I, too, thank 
God for this !” 

Evaline turned, clasped the other in her arms, and 
the beautiful twin sisters wept in each other’s embrace. 

“What a singular meeting is this!” observed Mrs. 
Huntly to Madame Mortimer, who now, completely re- 
covered, arose from the bed. “And how remarkable 
that both you and I should have a long lost child re- 
stored to us at the same time !” 

“ Yes,” answered the other, “ God sometimes works in 
wonders, and this, is wonderful ! But not the least re- 
markable of all is the fact, that some years since your 
son saved the life of my daughter, and subsequently my 
daughter saved the life of your son — though eacli at the 
time wholly unknown to the other, with no apparent 
connection between the two striking events. The good 
we do returns to us, as the evil of our lives often falls 
heavily upon our heads. I have experienced both ;” and 
she sighed heavily. “ But come, my daughter,” she 
added, turning to Evaline, “ you have friends with you 
whom we have long kept waiting. We must now enter- 
tain them, or they will think themselves slighted, and 
with good reason. When everything is properly ar- 
ranged and settled, we will have those secret documents 
produced and hear your tale.” 

As she spoke, she led the way to the larger apart- 
ment. 

“Charley,” I whispered, “ I fear we have forgotten to 
congratulate Prairie Flower on the happy termination of 
this interview and change of name I” 

He pressed my hand and answered : 

“You must be spokesman, then — for at present I am 
unable to express my feelings.” 

“ Be it so — but you must accompany me ;” and ad- 
vancing to Prairie Flower, I took her hand and said : 

“ I give you joy, Evaline Mortimer I and so does my 
friend here, though at present too bashful to say it.” 

Both Charles and Evaline blushed and became em- 
barrassed. But quickly recovering herself, the latter 
returned : 

“ I thank you — thank you both — from my heart ! 


404 


MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 


But for you, this might never have been and her eyes 
instantly filled with grateful tears. 

“ But for you, dear Evaline,” rejoined I, might 

never have been here. The obligation is on our side — 
we are the debtors.” 

“Prairie Flower,” began Huntly, taking her dis- 
engaged hand and making an effort to command himself 

— “Or rather, I should say, Evaline — I — I Well, you 

understand ! Imagine all I would say — for just now I 
can say nothing.” 

“ Bravo, Charley !” cried I, laughing and giving him 
a friendly slap on the shoulder. “ Bravo, my dear fellow ! 
Spoken like yourself !” 

“ Hush !” he returned, with a gesture of displeasure ; 
“do not jest with me now, Frank !” 

Meantime I noticed that Eva and Lilian watched the 
features of both Evaline and Charles closely, and then 
whispered to each other, and smiled, and again looked 
earnestly at the two. 

“ The secret is out,” thought I. 

At this moment Madame Mortimer, observing us 
together, approached and addressed my friend, with a 
bland smile : 

“ Said I not, Charles, that the heroine of this life- 
romance must necessarily be a personage of conse- 
quence ?” 

“ And I am rejoiced that your words are verified,” 
was the reply. 

“ Thank you ! and thank God that I have found 
them verified in a way I little expected ! But all 
heroines, you know, must fall in love !” she added, 
laughing. “ How is it in the present case, eh ?” 

“ It turns out on the most approved plan,” I answered, 
pointedly, glancing at both Charles and Evaline, who, 
judging from their looks, wished themselves for the 
moment anywhere but where they stood. 

“ I am rejoiced to hear it,” rejoined the good dame. 

“And how is it with you, Eva?” I asked, playfully. 

“ Why, I suppose I must resign all pretensions,” she 
replied, in her wonted light tone. “ Of course I was anx- 
ious to make a conquest — as what young lady is not ? 


MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 


405 


But I see there is no chance for me," she pursued glanc- 
ing slyly at my friend ; “and so I will just make a virtue 
of necessity, pretend I don’t care anything about it, and, 
heigh-ho ! look somewhere else, with the old proverb, 
‘Better luck next time.’ Ay," she added, springing to the 
blushing Evaline, and imprinting a kiss on her sweet lips, 
“ I am too happy in finding a sister, to mourn long for a 
lover — more especially if a certain somebody (again glanc- 
ing at Charles,) has any design of becoming a relation." 

“ Well said !" I rejoined. “ And now, Charley — " 

“Hist !" he exclaimed, interrupting and dragging me 
away. “ Come," he added, “ let us take a stroll and 
arm-in-arm we quitted the cottage. 

Considerable of a crowd had already collected around 
our Indian friends, and were listening to a story from 
Teddy, who, as he privately expressed himself to me, 
“Was in all the glory of making the spalpeens belave 
himsilf and us the heroes of a hundred mighty fights, and 
battles, and scrimmages, and hair-length escapes, and 
thim things." 

Among the number present I recognized several 
of my old acquaintances, who appeared much de- 
lighted to see me, and to whom I introduced my long lost 
friend. 

After the usual commonplace observations were over, 
I turned to Teddy, and gave him instructions to conduct 
the Indians into the cottage forthwith, and then see to 
having their horses well taken care of. 

This done, Huntly and I sauntered down through the 
village, to note the improvements, and talk over the im- 
portant events of the last few hours. 

As Lilian had said I would, I found the village of 
Oregon City greatly altered for the better, and that it had 
already begun to assume the appearance of a thriving set- 
tlement. During the past season there had been a large 
influx of population from the East, the effects of which 
were everywhere visible in new dwellings and^workshops. 
Some three or four merchants had come on with goods, 
opened stores and were now doing a thriving business, 
in disposing of their commodities at the most extravagant 
prices. A grist-mill and saw-mill had also been erected 


4o6 


MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 


on the Willamette, and were now in active operation — 
the former grinding out the staff of life, and the latter 
supplying such of the settlers as desired habitations super- 
ior to log cabins with the necessary materials for more 
finished building. Here and there were the workshops 
of the carpenter, blacksmith, saddler, shoemaker and 
tailor — and, in short, everything necessary apparently 
to a business place. 

Strolling down to the Willamette, we halted upon a 
bluff overlooking the romantic stream, and, as chance 
would have it, upon the very spot where I had offered 
my hand to Lilian. 

“ Here, Charley,” said I, “ is ground which to me is 
sacred. Can you not guess from what cause ?” 

He only answered by pressing my arm and heaving a 
deep sigh. 

“ Come,” added I, smiling, “ a wager I can guess your 
thoughts !” 

“Well ?” 

“You are thinking of Evaline.” 

He changed color and sighed : 

“ Well ?” 

“And now you begin to have doubts that all may not 
terminate as you desire !” 

“ You are good at guessing,” he rejoined, gating sol- 
emnly down upon the current below. • 

“Courage, man !” rejoined I. “ Never despair jonthe 
point of victory !” 

“Ah !” he sighed ; “ if I could be assured of that.” 

“ Assured, Charley ! What more assurance would 
you have ? She loves you ; I will vouch for that ; and 
now that the mystery hanging over her early life is 
cleared up, you have nothing to do but be yourself and 
ask her hand.” 

“ Do you think so he cried, suddenly confronting 
me with an eager look. “ Do you think so, Frank ?” 

“ Do I think so ?” I repeated. “ Why, where is your 
wonted assurance ? Do I think so ? N o ! I do not think 
— I know !” 

“ But I — I — somehow — I have my misgivings.” 

“ Pshaw, my friend — love’s misgivings only. If you 


MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 


407 


had not these, I should put it down as a solemn fact that 
you did not love. She has her misgivings, too — but they 
spring from the same source as yours, and amount to ex- 
actly the same thing— that is, nothing. Why, how you 
have changed ! You are as timid as a schoolboy at his 
first public declamation, and tremble more in the pres- 
ence of one beautiful being, than you did in the clutches 
of a fierce banditti. Throw aside this foolish bashful- 
ness, and act like a sensible fellow ! There is nothing 
so very alarming in telling a young maiden you love 
and adore her, when you once set yourself about it. I 
have tried it, and speak from experience. Once, I re- 
member, you talked the matter of matrimony over as de- 
liberately as if making a bargain and sale — purchasing 
or transferring property.” 

“Ay,” he answered, musingly, “but it was merely 
talk then — noiu it is quite a different thing. H — if — she 
should refuse ” 

“Nonsense!” interrupted I, laughing; and then I 
added, imitating him : “ If — if — you should refuse, 

why- ” 

“ Cease !” he exclaimed, almost angrily. “ Why will 
you be ever jesting, Frank ?” 

“ That I may bring you to sober earnest, Charley.” 

In like conversation we whiled away an hour or two, 
and then returned to the cottage — Huntly in a better 
flow of spirits than I had seen him for many a day. 

The news of our arrival — the restoration of a long 
lost daughter to the arms of her mother — together with 
exaggerated and marvellous reports of the whole affair 
— had already made the dwelling of Mrs. Huntly a place 
of attraction to the villagers, whom we here found col- 
lected in goodly numbers of both sexes. In fact the 
house was throriged throughout the day, and both Hunt- 
ly and rnyself were kept busy in recounting our exploits 
to curious and eager listeners. 

Night, however, came at last, and with its approach 
departed our visitors, much to our relief and gratifica- 
tion. 


4o8 


UNRAVELLING A MYSTERY. 


CHAPTER XLIX. 

UNRAVELLING A MYSTERY. 

T was about an hour after nightfall, that, every- 
tliing having become quiet, we formed a 
pleasant circle before a bright fire, in the 
dwelling of Mrs. Huntly, to hear the tale of 
Evaline Mortimer. 

Throughout the day, all had been too busy in enter- 
taining guests to attend to private affairs ; but now the 
transient visitors had departed, and none were by to 
listen save those most deeply interested. 

Evaline, in the course of the day, had managed to steal 
away for an hour, during which she had opened her 
“treasure-box,” as she termed it, wherein she had found 
a parchment in the hand-writing of Great Medicine, 
whose contents she had eagerly devoured, and the sub- 
stance of which, together with what she knew of herself, 
she was now about to lay before us. 

“Come,” said Madame Mortimer, after some trifling 
conversation had passed : “ Come, dear Evaline, now for 
the romance of your life ! We are all eager for the 
story.” 

“ And when I have told it,” said Evaline in reply, 
smiling sweetly, “ I shall have told a tale to which no 
mortal ear has ever before listened, and a portion of 
which has been unknown to myself till within the last 
few hours. I have examined the record of Great Medi- 
cine, and find much therein I did not know before ; but 
still, with all the knowledge gained therefrom, I should 
have remained ignorant of the most important period of 
my history — important to me at least — but for this provi- 
dential meeting with my dear mother and sister— the 
former of whom can perhaps put the connecting link 
between what I know and my birth. 

“ As the narration on the whole is rather discon- 
nected, 1 will tell the story in my own way, and thus in 



UNRAVELLING A MYSTERY. 


409 


a more direct form bring to bear all the knowledge I 
have regarding myself and those with whom my fortune 
has been linked. 

My earliest impressions are of Great Medicine, and 
the Indians with whom he was associated. Of his early 
history I could never learn anything authentic. It was 
current with the tribe, that he had come from afar, had 
formerly been a great chief, and was now the sole rem- 
nant of his race. Some twelve or fifteen years prior to 
the period I speak of, or say a little more than thirty 
years ago, he had appeared among the various tribes then 
located in one of the more eastern territories, and had 
brought with him three white missionaries of the Mora- 
vian school, who had at once set to work to convert the 
savages to the Christian faith. The influence of the old 
man — for even then Great Medicine was well advanced in 
years — tended much to allay the vindictive feelings 
which the savages were disposed to manifest toward his 
white friends, and to which they were secretly urged on 
by British agents — this, as you will bear in mind, being 
the period of the commencement of hostilities between 
America and Great Britain. The result of the matter 
was, that several of the Indians became converts to the 
true faith, renounced the barbarisms of their ancestors, 
and threw down their war implements to take them up 
no more. These converts were of various tribes, and 
were subsequently by each tribe denounced as impostors 
and squaws, and persecuted in many cases even to the 
death — so that the survivors were obliged to abandon 
their homes and seek safety in flight. These fugitives, 
by an arrangement of Great Medicine, all gathered 
together, and in solemn conclave formed themselves into 
a tribe, of which he was appointed chief, or rather Great 
Medicine, for the title of chief was by them abolished. 
A mode of worship was then established, of which sev- 
eral songs, composed by the missionaries, formed a 
striking feature, and made the ceremonies more impres- 
sive than they might otherwise have been." 

“And these songs," interrupted I, “were the same 
you once translated to me ?" 

“The same," answered the sweet narrator, “with the 
18 


410 


UNRAVELLING A MYSTERY. 


exception of what they may have gained or lost by the 
peculiar dialect finally adopted by the new-formed tribe. 
The ceremonies of this tribe,” she continued, “ were not 
all established at once, and may now differ somewhat 
from those of the time in question, though the same I 
believe in the main features. 

“ As the Indian, by nature and association, is peculiarly 
fitted to believe in the marvelous, it is not surprising that 
some portion of this reverence for the supernatural 
should have clung to those of the new faith ; and in con- 
sequence of this. Great Medicine was supposed to be 
invested with powers beyond the mere mortal. Whether 
he believed this of himself, I am unable to say ; but cer- 
tain it is, he took care the rest should think so ; and ever 
excluding himself from the tribe, except when his pres- 
ence was absolutely necessary, he succeeded by his pecu- 
liarities, eccentricities, strange incantations and the like, 
in drawing around himself a vail of mystery which none 
ever presumed to penetrate. On the whole, he was 
a very strange being ; and though all loved, all feared 
him ; and none ever knew for a certainty who he was or 
whence he came. If one presumed to question him, it 
was only for once. The silent look he received from that 
small, dark eye, was enough. It thrilled and overawed 
him, and he turned away, resolved never to question him 
again. Even I, whom he ever treated with affectionate 
care — who was constantly admitted to his presence when 
all others were excluded — who had the advantage of be- 
ing with him in his most meditative and communicative 
moods— even I, was never made wiser than my compan- 
ions. As I have said once before, he ever remained an 
enigma without a solution. Like the rest, I loved and I 
feared him — with this difference, perhaps — that the 
former with me was the stronger of the two passions. 
But to return from this slight digression. 

“The tribe, organized under the control of Great 
Medicine, for a time flourished well, and constantly in- 
creased by new converts from the neighboring tribes. But 
this nearly proved its overthrow. The other tribes at 
last became jealous, and declared if this state of things 
continued their villages would become depopulated. They 


UNRA FELLING A M YSTER Y. 


411 


swore revenge, and took it, and most dire revenge it was. 
They made a descent upon their harmless friends, and 
with ruthless hands slew their own relatives, and took 
the missionaries captives, whom they afterward put to 
the tortures. It was a terrible massacre — a massacre 
without resistance on the part of the victims, whose pecu- 
liar tenets of religion forbade them to fight even in de- 
fense of their lives. At one fell swoop nearly all were cut 
off. None, upon whom the bloodthirsty assailants laid 
hands, were spared. Women and children — the infant 
at the breast — the promising youth and tender maiden — 
the man in the prime of life and the hoary-headed vet- 
eran : all were alike victims — all shared one common 
fate — all found a bloody grave.” 

“What a terrible scene !” exclaimed Madame Morti- 
mer, shuddering. 

“Terrible! terrible !” echoed Lilian and Eva. 

“ And how many do you suppose perished ?” asked 
Mrs. Huntly. 

“ I cannot say,” answered Evaline. “ All I know is, 
that only a few escaped — some half a dozen, I believe — 
among whom was Great Medicine. They fled, fast and 
far, to another part of the wilderness, but still firm in 
that faith by which they had been so sorely tried. When 
hundreds of miles had been placed between them and 
their fierce enemies, they paused in their flight, and, 
selecting a pleasant spot, erected a few huts, and con- 
tinued their devotions as before. Here they were visited 
by other tribes, who, knowing nothing of their history, 
and struck with their peculiarities and mode of v/orship, 
treated them with great respect and reverence, and 
called them the Wahsochee — equivalent to the English 
word Mysterious — by which name, and the title of their 
founder, they have ever since been known. 

“ Here Providence again favored them, and their 
numbers increased very rapidly. Their fame spread far 
and wide over the vast wilderness, and bold warriors 
from distant tribes came to see them, many of whom re- 
mained, converts to their faith. In this manner the 
Wahsochee village again became populous ; and the 
different tribes, though at deadly enmity with one another, 


412 


UNRAVELLING A MYSTERY. 


all concurred in respecting and leaving them unmolested. 
As those who joined them were among the most intelli- 
gent of their race, and as these were from a great many 
nations, the language of each was gradually introduced, 
until, besides a dialect of their own, the tribe had the 
advantage of understanding that of almost every oth6r 
of note. 

“ Thus for several years all went on prosperously, 
and their number had augmented from six to a hundred 
and fifty, when that fatal malady, the small-pox, broke 
out and swept off four-fifths of the nation. From this 
awful blow they never fully recovered — at least, never 
to be what they were before — for many who were on the 
point of joining them, were deterred by what they de- 
clared to be the angry frown of the Great Spirit ; and 
although other tribes were scourged in like manner, still 
the more superstitious contended that the Wahsochee 
religion could not be good, or the Great Spirit would 
not have been angry with them, even though he were 
with their neighbors. 

‘‘This latter affliction occurred some two years prior 
to my being brought among them, of which mysterious 
event I shall now proceed to speak as I find it recorded 
by Great Medicine himself.” 

“ Permit me a word, Evaline, before you proceed 
further ?” said I, interrupting her. “ Since you have 
briefly given the history of the Mysterious Tribe, may I 
inquire why it was, on our first acquaintance, you so 
strongly insisted I should not question you concerning 
yourself or companions ?” 

“ In the first place,” she replied, “ Great Medicine 
had expressly declared (and his word was law with us) 
that nothing of our history must be told to strangers, 
whose desire to know, as a general thing, would pro- 
ceed from idle curiosity, to gratify which would avail us 
nothing. In the second place, of my early history I was 
ignorant — at least of that which referred to my parentage 
— and to be questioned, ever caused me the most painful 
embarrassment ; besides, of what I did know, I had 
promised the old man to reveal nothing. I knew I was 
not of the Indian race ; but to admit this would lead to 


UJVJ^A YELLING A M YSTER Y. 


413 


a thousand other inquiries, which could not be satisfied, 
and which I felt a stranger had no right to make. Are 
you answered ?” 

“ Fully and satisfactorily. Please go on with your 
story !” 

“ The location of the tribe, at the period of which I 
now speak,” proceeded Evaline, “ was near the Des 
Moines river, in the southern part of that territory 
since known as Iowa. While the tribe remained here, it 
was customary for Great Medicine to make a journey to 
St. Louis, as often as once a year, to trade his furs, skins, 
embroidered moccasins and the like, for powder, lead, 
beads, blankets, and whatever else he fancied the tribe 
might need. On his return from one of these excur- 
sions (so he gives the story), and when some ten miles 
above St. Louis, having fallen behind his party, he was 
overtaken by a fierce-looking horseman, who bore in his 
arms a little girl, some two or three years of age, and 
who at once accosted him, in a very gruff manner, de- 
manding to know whither he was going. This horse- 
man, he says, was a very villainous-looking white man, 
who wore a long, flowing beard, had a black, fiery eye, 
and was short in stature and heavy set. 

- “ On hearing the reply of Great Medicine, the white 
man drew a pistol and dismounted, ordering him to 
dismount also. Once, he writes, he would have shot and 
scalped the bold intruder without a word ; but now he 
had no such thoughts ; and he obeyed him in silence, 
wondering what was to come next. 

“ ‘ Here is a brat,’ said the stranger, pointing to the 
child now crouching at his feet, ‘which I wish out of the 
way, and am too much of a coward to effect my desires. 
Take her — it is your calling — and here is gold.’ 

You are mistaken in me,’ replied Great Medicine, 
‘if you suppose I will aid your base ends. I would not 
kill that innocent little creature to own the world.’ 

“ ‘ You an Indian and say this !’ cried the other, mak- 
ing use of aAvicked oath. ‘What in the name of Heaven 
ails the child, that all fear to harm her ? She must die 
though ; and if you will not undertake the jqb, why, then 


414 


UNRAVELLING A MYSTERY. 


there is no alternative and he placed his pistol to her 
head. 

“ ‘ Stay !’ cried the old man, beseechingly ; ‘ I will 
not harm her myself ; but if you wish to rid yourself of 
her, I will consent to place her far from civilization, and 
adopt her into my tribe.’ 

“ ‘ But she is a child of consequence,’ pursued the 
other, ‘the daughter of one who is a great chief in his 
own country, and stands between me and fortune. Should 
she return ’ 

“ ‘ There is no likelihood of that,’ interrupted the 
other, ‘as I shall take her some hundreds of miles into 
the wilderness.’ 

“‘But her father, who knows nothing of my design, 
and to whom I must report her lost or dead, may insti- 
tute a search. How do I know she may not be found ?’ 

“‘That I think impossible,’ rejoined the old man. 

“‘But this will make all sure,’ continued the dark 
stranger, again pointing the pistol at her head. 

“‘Nay, hold!’ cried the other, in alarm. ‘If you 
dare to murder her, I will make her spirit haunt you for- 
ever 1’ 

“ ‘ You make her spirit haunt me ! Umph ! what are 
you but a decrepit old Indian ? By heavens ! I have a 
mind to murder you both. But I hate murder ; for in 
fact one never feels safe afterward. Do you believe in a 
God, old man ? — for you talk as one the world denomi- 
nates a Christian.’ 

“ ‘ I do believe in a God,’ answered Great Medicine ; 
‘and if you dare to harm this child, His just retribution 
shall follow you, even to the remotest bounds of earth, 
time and eternity.’ 

“ The other paused, reflected, and then added : 

“‘I would not have her blood upon my soul, for I 
have sin enough there already. You think there is no 
danger of her being discovered ?’ 

“ ‘ Not the least.’ 

“ ‘ And you say you believe in a God ?’ 

“ ‘ I do.’ 

“ ‘ You hope for salvation, as men term it ?’ 

“ ‘ I do.’ 

“‘Then swear, by your hopes of salvation, to keep 


UNRAVELLING A MYSTERY. 


415 

her among the Indians as long as you live — to adopt her 
into your tribe, and never to mortal ear to reveal a word 
concerning this interview, or how she came into your 
possession — that you will never attempt to trace out her 
parentage, nor make any inquiries concerning her, — 
swear to all this, and she is yours ! Refuse, and her death 
and yours shall be the penalty !’ 

“ ^ I swear to all !’ answered Great Medicine. 

“‘Enough! take her and speed to the wilderness; 
while I will away and report her dead — murdered by the 
Indians,’ he added, with a grim smile. Then leaping 
upon his horse, he muttered, as he turned away: ‘All is 
safe, I think, for we shall soon be over the water;’ and 
the next moment both horse and rider were lost in the 
forest. 

“ ‘ This child,’ writes Great Medicine, ‘ behold in your- 
self; Prairie Flower ! and this is all I know of your early 
history.’” 

“ Strange !” said Madame Mortimer, musingly. 
“ Here is more- mystery — I do not understand it. Who 
could have been this horseman ? and what the meaning 
of his words ? As you were stolen away on the night 
succeeding my desertion by your father, I had ever sup- 
posed — or hoped, rather — you had been taken away by 
him, and with him, wherever he went ; and this hope 
proved my only comfort in affliction. But now I do not 
know what to think. This horseman could not have 
been your father, for the description is not at all like him. 
The latter was tall — dark complexioned, it is true — but 
with fine features and handsome person. And then he 
referred to your father, as knowing nothing of this dark 
transaction, and termed him a great chief in his own 
country, and said you were standing between him and 
fortune. What could he have meant by this last ? Your 
father had no fortune to my knoxvledge, and mine was so 
fixed he could not get it. Ha ! a thought strikes me. 
He was an exile from his native land — though for what 
he would never tell me, and would never speak of his 
early history. It is possible he may have been a person- 
age of consequence, banished for some state intrigue, 
and again restored. It may be he had news of this when 


4i6 


UNRAVELLING A MYSTERY, 


he came to declare his intention of leaving me. And now 
I remember, he once intimated that he would some day 
be independent of me, though I did not know what was 
meant. This must be it !” she continued, as if solilo- 
quizing ; “ this must be it ! and this stranger, some fiend 
in human form, plotting to succeed him in wealth and 
station. Oh ! the wickedness of all mankind ! But I 
forget, my friends, you do not know of what I speak, as 
I have never told you my history.” 

“Nay, madam,” returned I, “we know more than 
you think.” 

“ Indeed ! and how ?” 

Lilian blushed and I became embarrassed — for I felt 
I had, in my heedlessness, said a word too much. 

“ Pardon me,” I returned, “and do not blame my in- 
formant ! I must own I have heard the tale before. 
But you will not regret it, perhaps, when I say, that to 
this very knowledge you are partially, if not entirely, 
indebted for the presence of your long lost daughter.” 

“I blame no one,” she answered, solemnly ; “for all, 
in the hands of God, has worked for my good. I under- 
stand it all,” she added, glancing at Lilian and Eva. 
“ These tell-tale blushes reveal the truth. Eva told 
Lilian in confidence, and love wrung from her the secret. 
I am glad it is so. You are all my friends, and the tale 
by rights belongs to you. I might never have told it 
myself, unlesson an occasion like this — for Ido not care 
to have the cold, idle world speculating and jesting on 
the secrets of what has long been an unhappy, if not a 
wretched, heart. In my younger days I was headstrong 
and rash, and did many a wrong, as I have since felt 
to my cost — and might have done more, perhaps, but for 
my dear daughter Eva’s sake. Ay ! for her, I may say, I 
lived j for had she been taken from me, the grave ere this 
had covered a broken heart.” 

Her last words were said in a trembling voice and 
with deep emotion. 

“ God bless you, mother !” exclaimed Eva, in a tone 
which brought tears to the eyes of all present. 

“ He has blessed me, my child — blessed me beyond 
my deserts. Had I been what I should have been, 


UNRAVELLING A MYSTERY. 


417 


perchance your father had never left me, my daughters. 
But enough of this. It is past now — gone beyond recall 
— and the result is before us. But go on, dear Evaline — 
go on with your story !” 

“Were I to tell the whole,” resumed the latter, “it 
would take me hours — nay, days — but that I shall not 
attempt to-night, only so far as relates to my earliest 
years and earliest impressions. In future I will give you 
more, little by little, until you receive the whole." 

“ As I have said previously, my earliest recollections 
are of Great Medicine and his tribe. I remember his 
dark, keen eye, and of his gazing upon me for hours, 
when none were by, and he thought I did not notice him. 
But I was older in thought than he was aware of ; and I 
used to wonder at this singularity, when he believed I 
wondered at nothing. I remember many and many a 
time of kneeling down to a spring of clear water, gazing 
at my features, and wondering why I was so different 
from my companions. I saw, even then, that my features 
were fairer and of an entirely different cast ; and this, to 
my young fancy, seemed most strange, as I believed my- 
self of the same race as those around me. Great Medi- 
cine I then thought my father — for so he bade me call 
him, and so I did. As I grew older, this contrast, this 
difference in person, struck me more and more, and at 
last I made bold to interrogate the old man concern- 
ing it. 

“Never shall I forget his look, as I, in childish sim- 
plicity, asked the question. He started, as if stung by a 
serpent, and his small, black eyes fastened upon mine as 
though to read my very soul. Never had I feared him 
till then. There was a wild fascination in that gaze, 
which thrilled and overawed me, and made my own seek 
the ground. Never shall I forget his words, as he ad- 
vanced and took my hand. It was not so much what he 
said, as his impressive manner of saying it.* 

“‘Child,’ he replied, ‘ you seek to know too much, 
and the knowledge you seek would render you in future 
years the most unhappy of mortals. Something I feel 
you must now know — and this it is : You are not of my 
race ; you are a pale-face ; I am your guardian. Seek 
18* 


4i8 


UNRAVELLING A MYSTERY. 


to know no more, for all is dark beyond. Be one of us, 
and be happy in ignorance. Breathe this I have told you 
to no mortal ear ! and never, never question me again ! 
You promise, girl ?’ he added. 

“ ^ I do.’ 

“ ‘ Enough ! Go !’ 

“ I left his presence a changed being, though he knew 
it not ; for his strange language and manner had excited 
that eternal thirst for knowledge which he had thought 
and sought to allay. I questioned him no more ; but nis 
singular words I pondered in secret. 

“ ‘There is mystery here,’ I would repeat to myself ; 
but I took care to repeat it to no other human being. 

“To detail my strange conjectures from that time 
forth, would be to lay bare the secret workings of an 
ever active spirit. I shall not attempt it, but leave it to 
your imagination. 

“About this period a few missionaries set up a tem- 
porary station near our locality, for the double purpose 
of making converts to their faith and imparting knowl- 
edge to the unenlightened Indians by teaching them to 
read and write. At the request of Great Medicine, three 
of their number came and took up their abode with us 
for the latter purpose. I was at once placed under their 
instruction, as were all the younger members of the vil- 
lage. On my first appearance before them, they seemed 
surprised, and questioned me regarding my name and 
parentage — at the same time expressing their belief I 
Avas not an Indian — or, at the most, only a half-breed. I 
replied, that as to myself they might conjecture what 
they pleased, but that I was not then at liberty to answer 
any questions, and there the subject dropped. 

“ A year’s tuition and close application made me 
quite a scholar, and I could now read and write the Eng- 
lish language quite fluently, as could several of the more 
intelligent of my companions. At the close of the period 
mentioned, our teachers, after presenting each of their 
pupils with a Bible, and distributing among us several 
other religious books, departed to another section of 
country. 

“ Soon after this. Great Medicine proposed that we 


UNRAVELLING A MYSTERY. 


419 


should adopt a more roving life, as in this manner he 
thought greater good might be effected. Accordingly we 
began moving from one quarter to another, trying to sub- 
due the wild passions of the Indians of the different tribes 
we met. In this of course we were not in general success- 
ful — though our exemplary mode of life ever appeared 
to make a favorable impression on their savage hearts 
and win their respect. In course of time we became 
personally known in every section of the broad West, and 
were allowed to come and depart as we saw proper. 
Whenever we heard of a battle about to be fought between 
two nations, we would generally follow one party or the 
other, that we might be on the ground to succor the 
wounded. If we gained tidings o-f a strong party about 
to assault a weaker, we would manage, if possible, to warn 
the latter. Or, in the event of the forces being equal, if 
we knew of a surprise one tribe had planned for another, 
it w'as ever our design to warn the unwary. Whites as 
well as Indians received from us the same warnings — 
though how our information was obtained, generally re- 
mained a mystery to those not in the secret. And more- 
over, great caution was required by the informant' in these 
cases, to avoid exposing himself to the aggressors, who, 
in the heat of passion, would be likely to seek revenge. 
On many of these errands of merCy — fori think I may so 
term them — have I been sent, when I knew a single error 
would cost me my life. But I believed I was doing my 
duty, put my trust in a Power above, and faltered not 
in my purpose. I was never detected but once to my 
knowledge ; and in that instance, fortunately for me, I 
had rendered the tribe aggrieved the same service as that 
for which they brought me to trial before their council. 
This being proved, it was finally decided that the obliga- 
tion on their part canceled the aggression on mine,, and I 
was allowed to go free, with a very significant intimation, 
however, that if caught in the second offense my sentence 
would be death. 

“But as I do not intend to enter into detail to-night, 
and as I already feel somewhat fatigued, I will drop my 
narrative here, and, as I said before, give you from time 
to time the most striking incidents of my life, as they oc- 


420 


PLANNING FOR THE FUTURE. 


cur to my recollection. I have briefly told you all I 
know of my early history, and by your leave will so end 
the story.” 


CHAPTER L. 

PLANNING FOR THE FUTURE. 

OOR child ! my own sweet Evaline !” said 
Madame Mortimer, affectionately, as the 
former concluded; “what a singular life 
has been yours ! and how much you must 
have suffered !” 

“For which she shall be made happy the rest of her 
days,” said Eva, springing to and imprinting a kiss on 
her lips. 

“Ah!” chimed in Lilian, following the example of 
Eva ; “did I not say we would love her as a sister?” 

“Ay! but I had no idea you spoke so much truth, 
and in a double sense,” rejoined Eva, glancing archly 
toward Charles. “ I trust we may love her as a sister 
both !” 

“Indeed you may!* chimed in I, laughing. “Eh! 
Charley ?” 

“ Be quiet, I beg of you !” answered my friend, in 
some confusion ; while Evaline hung her head with a 
blush, and a pleasant smile played over the faces of the 
rest of the group. 

“ And now, dear Evaline,” said Madame Mortimer, 
“ I suppose we may count on your spending the remain- 
der of your days with us ?” 

Evaline seemed to muse seriously, but did not 
reply. 

“ Surely you do not hesitate, my child ?” 

“ Why, to tell the truth,” she answered, “ I love the 
Indians, and know they will be loth to part with me.” 



PLANNING FOR THE FUTURE. 421 


“ And has a mother no tie stronger than that of mere 
association ?” rejoined the other, reproachfully. 

Evaline looked up and her eyes filled with tears. 

“ Nay, mother,” she said, “ do not speak thus ! Yes !” 
she exclaimed, suddenly rising, and throwing her arms 
around the other’s neck : “yes, dear mother, I will go with 
j'ou, even to the ends of the earth ! — for I feel I could 
not part from you again. From my very childhood I 
have yearned for this happy moment — to hear the sweet 
voice of one I could call mother. It may be wrong to 
forsake my calling ; but, if it be, I feel I must err ; for I 
am only human after all, and cannot withstand the temp- 
tation of being with those I already love beyond all 
others I have ever seen.” 

“ Bless you, Evaline, for these endearing words !” 

“But I must return to them,” she added — “I have 
p""omised that. I must return and bid them a last fare- 
well.” 

, “ But where are you to find them, my child ?” 

“ They will winter on the Black Hills, some sixty or 
seventy miles from Fort Laramie.” 

“And will they remain through the spring ?” asked I. 

“ I cannot say. They may remain there through the 
summer, for all are particularly attached to the spot ; 
and if any place can be called their home, it is the one in 
question.” 

“Then you can visit them on our way to the East; 
and should every thing be prosperous, we shall start as 
early in the spring as practicable.” 

“ Oh, then we are to go East in earnest?” exclaimed 
Eva, clapping her hands for joy. 

“ Yes,” I replied, “ I am anxious to see home, and 
cannot think of leaving my friends behind me.” 

“ Thank you for this welcome news !” she returned ; 
“for I am already tired of the forest.” 

“ But you do not regret having come here, Eva ?” 
said her mother, inquiringly. 

“ Why, I have regretted it all along, till I found my 
sweet sister. Of course I cannot regret being made 
happy by her presence, which but for this journey h?d 


422 PLANNING FOR THE FUTURE. 


probably never been. At the same time I am not the 
less anxious to return now and take her with me.” 

“ And I,” said Mrs. Huntly, “ now that I am blessed 
with my children, begin to feel anxious to see my native 
land again, to there pass the remainder of my days, and 
take my final rest with those that have gone before me.” 

“ God grant it may be long ere the latter event 1” re- 
turned Charles, with feeling. 

“ Amen !” added I. 

‘‘ It seems,” observed Madame Mortifner, after some 
reflection, “as if Providence especially directed our steps 
hither ; and it is the only way I can account for my 
anxiety to visit this part of the world, and thus expose 
myself and Eva to hardships and perils. What need had 
I to come westward ? I had a handsome competence, 
and no ambition to be a pioneer ; and yet something 
whispered me I must go. Truly, as I said before, God 
works in wonders !” 

In like conversation an hour or two flew by, when the 
party broke up, and Madame Mortimer and her daugh- 
ters were conducted by Huntly and myself to their own 
abode, which was close at hand, and the excitements of 
the day were soon by each forgotten in the pleasant 
dreams of the night. 

Time rolled away pleasantly ; and the third night 
after this, having retired at the usual hour and fallen 
into a sweet sleep, I was awakened by Huntly, whom I 
found pacing up and down the room, apparently in great 
excitement. 

“ Good heavens ! what is the matter ?” exclaimed I, 
rubbing open my eyes and starting up in bed. 

“ So, then, you are awake at last !” he replied, his 
eyes sparkling with what to me seemed unnatural fire. 
“ Why, Frank, I was beginning to think you were taking 
your last long sleep, and that I might as well call to a 
wooden man. Come ! up, now, and give me joy ! It is 
all settled, my dear fellow — all settled !” 

“ Is it ?” rejoined I, completely at a loss to compre- 
hend what he meant; but somehow, in my sleepy confu- 
sion, mixing it up with a duel of which I had been 


PLANNING FOP THE FUTURE. 


423 


dreaming the night previous. “And so it is all settled, 
eh ? Well, I am glad to hear it, Charley.” 

“ I knew you would be,” he replied ; “and I awoke 
you on purpose to have you share my happiness. Come, 
give me your hand !” 

“ But how did you settle it, Charley ?” 

“ Oh, I made bold to take up the matter at last and 
press it to a conclusion.” 

“ And so you settled it ?” 

“ Ay, and it is to come off at the same time as yours.” 

“ As mine ! But, my friend, I have no such affair on 
hand, to my knowledge.” 

“ What !” exclaimed Huntly looking at me in astonish- 
ment. “ Why, you have given me to understand all along 
that you had.” 

“ I ? No, you must be mistaken.” 

“ Ha ! then you have quarreled ?” 

“ No ! exactly the reverse. But you told me a moment 
since you had settled the whole matter, and now you say 
it is to come off with mine. Somehow I do not under- 
stand it. Either you or I must have made a mistake. 
When you said it was all settled, I supposed you to mean 
amicably settled; but I see now you simply referred to 
manner, time, and place. Well, at all events, I will stand 
by you to the last, though I sincerely regret the affair 
could not have ended without a meeting. Pistols or 
rifles, Charles ?” 

“ Pistols or rifles !” he repeated, gazing at me with a 
peculiar expression. “Why, Frank, what do you mean 
by this strange language? or are you still asleep? In 
the name of all that is curious, pray tell me if you know 
yourself what you are talking about ?” 

“Why, fighting, of course.” 

“ Fighting ?” 

“ Ay, you were speaking of a duel, were you not ?” 

For a brief moment Huntly looked at me seriously, 
and then broke forth in a roar of laughter that fairly made 
the cabin tremble. It was some time ere he could com- 
mand his voice sufficiently to make himself intelligible. 

“ Go to bed, Frank !” were his first words, as, half bent 
over, his hands clasping his sides, he stood gazing at rnc 


424 PLANNING FOR THE FUTURE. 


with a comical look. “Go to bed, Frank, and dream 
yourself into a sensible fellow — for just now you are as 
wild as a night-hawk.” 

“ But if you did not allude to a duel, Charley, pray 
tell me to what you did allude?” 

“ To matrimony — neither more nor less,” he answered, 
laughing. 

“ Ha ! I see it all now. Why, how stupid I must 
have been ! But I was dreaming of a duel last night, and, 
being awakened so suddenly, and seeing you so excited, 
got completely bewildered. And so you have been iete- 
h-tHe with Evaline, found your tongue at last, and said 
the sensible thing, eh ?” 

“ Yes, and am now the happiest fellow living.” 

“You found it all right, did you, just as I said you 
would ?” 

“ So far that I found she loved me, and had from the 
date of our first meeting ; but that, believing herself a 
poor, nameless girl, she had avoided me, and striven in 
vain to crush her passion in the germ. Though she 
would have loved me, she said, to the exclusion of all 
others, even to the day of her death, yet, had matters not 
turned out as they have, she would most assuredly have 
refused my hand, though backed by all the eloquent 
pleadings of which the human tongue is master.” 

“Indeed would she!” I rejoined; “for such is her 
proud, noble nature. You remember our conversation 
years ago respecting her? My remark then was, if I mis- 
take not, that, though she might love, she would reject 
you ; and I gave, as one reason for it, that she was too 
noble minded to wed above herself. For what strange 
things have since transpired, you may thank your stars I 
You and I little dreamed then what the future had in 
store! Well! well! thank God, all has turned out for 
the best !” 

“Ay, Frank,” returned my friend, solemnly, “we may 
well thank God, and congratulate each other that we are 
here alive, after the thousand dangers to which we have 
been exposed !” 

“ And she accepted your hand?” I said, after a pause. 

“ She did, though not without much urging ; for she 


PLANNING FOR THE FUTURE, 425 


contended that even now she was but a simple, forest 
maiden, unused to the ways of civilization, and far my 
inferior in education, and said that I might aspire higher 
and be successful. But she loved — that was enough for 
me — and love and my pleadings at last overcame her 
scruples ; and I left her with a lighter heart than I have 
known for many a long year.” 

“ Well, my friend, I sincerely congratulate you on the 
happy termination ! And so, to speak plainly, your 
wedding is to come pff with mine ?’" 

“ Even so.” 

‘‘ Mine was to have come off on the day you returned ; 
such were the conditions ; but the day passed, as you 
know how ; and as we are determined on going East in 
the spring, Lilian and I have thought best to defer it till 
we arrive at home. Ah ! Charles, how that word thrills 
me ! Home ! Ah, me ! how long since I have seen it ! 
and who knows what disappointment and sorrow may be 
there in store for me ! And how must my doting parents 
have mourned my long absence ! Perchance they think 
me dead ! Merciful Heaven ! perchance they may be 
dead themselves ! Oh, God ! should such be the case 

But, no ! I will not, dare not, think so. I will hope 

for the best, and strive not to borrow trouble. It is 
enough to bear it when it comes. Come, my friend, to 
bed ! for the thought of home has driven all others out 
of my mind, and I can talk no more to-night.” 


426 


^FINAL DEPARTURE. 


CHAPTER LI. 

FINAL DEPARTURE. 

T is when in sweet and constant communion 
with those we love that we forget the jars and 
discords of our past life, in the enrapturing 
harmony of the present. We then lose sight 
of the world as it is, and only behold it 
through that magic glass of inner joy which shows all its 
beauties and conceals its defects. These moments of 
earthly beatitude are most precious and evanescent. 
They are as so many golden sunbeams, streaming 
upon the otherwise gloomy path of the traveler, and show- 
ing him a thousand beauties, of whose existence so near 
him he had previously no conception. 

Thus it was with myself and friends. Time rolled 
away almost unnoted, and ere we had prepared ourselves 
to bid old hoary-headed Winter adieu, we found to our 
surprise he had gone, and that light-footed Spring was 
gayly tripping and smiling in his place. 

Although far in the wilderness, Oregon City was not 
without its attractions. Of the settlers, many were 
young people, who had been well brought up in the East, 
and had come hither to try their fortunes. They did not 
believe in renouncing all their former amusements ; and, 
in consequence, gay parties, festivities, and balls, suc- 
ceeded one another in rapid succession. To these myself 
and friends were always invited, and a number of them 
we attended. They were rude in comparison to some 
in the older settlements, it is true ; but being in general 
conducted with great propriety, they often proved very 
agreeable pastimes, and enlivened the otherwise rather 
dull monotony of the village. 

As spring advanced, we began gradually to prepare 
for our journey. The real estate previously purchased 
by Mrs. Huntly, was readily sold for cash, and the re- 
ceipts doubled the purchase money. As we designed 



FINAL DEPARTURE. 


427 


' taking nothing with us but what was absolutely neces- 
i sary, the furniture of both Mrs. Huntly and Madame 
Mortimer was also disposed of — possession to be given 
as soon as the premises should be vacated. 

As our party of itself was not strong, and as there 
! were many here who designed going East — some to pro- 
cure goods, some to remain, and others, who had come 
I here in advance, to bring on their families — we decided 
' to join them, and thus journey in comparative security. 

I Great was the delight of Lilian and Eva as the time 
: drew near for our departure. In fact, toward the last, 
they could think of nothing, talk of nothing, but the 
pleasure of quitting their present abode, and of what they 
^ would do when they should safely arrive at their destina- 
! tion. 

I With Evaline it was different. In this journey she 
only saw a change of life and scene — (which, if truth 
must be told, she rather regretted than rejoiced at) — and 
: a sad parting from her Indian friends. Where Lilian 
: and Eva saw welcome faces and a thousand fascinations 
in the haunts of civilization, she beheld nothing but the 
cold gaze of strangers and the gossiping speculations of 
the worldly-minded. She was beautiful and fascinating 
in her personal appearance — refined, polished, and grace- 
ful in her manners — but, withal, so excessively modest 
as to underrate her own powers, and fancy herself an 
awkward forest maiden, unfitted for the society in which 
she was destined more or less to mingle. Both Charles 
and I, as also the others, ever strove to eradicate this un- 
pleasant impression, and we in part succeeded ; but still 
she was diffident, sober minded, and without a particle 
of that enthusiasm so strongly manifested by her sister 
and Lilian. 

The Indian companions of Evaline had remained in 
the village through the winter ; and by their quiet, un- 
obtrusive manners, their steady, upright mode of life — ■ 
so different from the drunken, brawling natives of the 
neighboring tribes, who occasionally visited the village 
— had won the respect and regard of the citizens, and, in 
fact, had become decided favorites with all. While the 
; former were sought for, the latter were shunned ; and 


428 


FINAL DEPARTURE, 


the widest distinction in all cases was ever drawn be- 
tween the Wahsochees and their red brethren of other 
nations. But notwithstanding this partiality, the Wah- 
sochees were evidently not contented in their present 
situation. To them, civilized customs had less attraction 
than the more rude and simple ones of their own tribe, 
and they were now anxious to depart and join their 
friends. It was arranged that all should proceed in 
company as far as Fort Laramie, whence E valine could 
either accompany the Indians or let them go in 

advance to herald her approach, as circumstances might 
determine. 

In enumerating the different personages who have 
figured in this narrative, I must not forget Teddy. For 
the last five or six months he had been in his glory ; and 
between taking care of our horses, spinning long yarns 
to the villagers, (whom, by the way, he ever succeeded 
in astonishing), and making love to Molly Stubbs, he 
had, as the phrase goes, had “ his hands full.” Of his 
success in the last, I must let the reader judge by the fol- 
lowing colloquy, which took place between us a week or 
so previous to the time fixed on for our departure. 

Approaching me with a rather timid step, hat in hand, 
and making a low obeisance, he said : 

“The top of the morning to your honor.” 

“The same to you, Teddy.” 

“Sure, your honor — (a pause and a rapid twirl of the 
hat) — sure, and is it thrue ye’re after taking yoursilf and 
frinds from these diggins (as the spalpeens call the likes) 
in a week for that mather?” 

“All true, Teddy, nothing unforeseen preventing.” 

“ Troth ! and ye’ll be missed from this counthry when 
the likes of that happens.” 

“ I trust so, Teddy.” 

Another pause, another twirl of the hat, and a scratch- 
ing of the head. After some hesitation he proceeded : 

“Sure, and it’s me own mother’s son, Teddy O’Lagh- 
erty, as ’ud like to be axing yees a question ?” 

“ Well, Teddy, say on !” 

“ Faith ! and it’s mcsilf as has been long in your hon-^ 
or’s sarvice, now.” 


FINAL BEFARTUFF. 


429 


“Some three or four years, I believe, olf and on.” 

“And it’s not a bether masther I’d iver want, no it 
isn’t.” 

“Well?” 

“But ye ’s a-going home, now, and maybe doesn’t 
care for the likes of me iny longer?” 

“ I see : you wish to be discharged ?” 

Another twirl of the hat and scratch of the head. 

“ Why, now, your honor — no offince at all— but — but 
to spaak the thruth, and make a claan breast of it, it’s 
that same I’d ayther be axing for, or doubling the sar- 
vice, jist.” 

“Doubling the service, Teddy? I do not understand 
you. You mean I must double your wages, eh?” 

“ Will, it’s not exactly that — but — but — but — ye sac — 
(Here the hat fell to the ground, and Teddy made an un- 
successful effort to recover it,) — “ Murther take the luck ! 
but I’ll say it now if I dies for it betimes ! Ye sae, your 
honor, I’ve axed Molly, and it’s all sittled, and there’s 
a-going to be the pair of us, barring that the two counts 
one Scripter-wise.” 

“ So, so — I understand now — you are about to be mar- 
ried to Molly?” 

“ Why, yis, I may say that’s the short way of saying 
the likes, your honor.” 

“ Exactly ; and unless I wish to employ you both, you 
desire to quit my service ?” 

“ Troth ! and your honor’s a gintleman at guessing.” 

“ Well, Teddy, as I have no use for Molly at this 
time, I will give you an honorable discharge, and a 
handsome wedding present for your valuable services 
besides.” 

“ God bliss ye for a gintleman, ivery inch of yees ! 
and it’s mesilf as’ll niver forgit ye in me prayers !” was 
the warm-hearted response, as, grasping my hand, he 
shook it heartily, while his eyes filled with joyful tears. 
“ God bliss ye for a noble heart !” he added, as he turned 
away to communicate his success to her with whom his 
fortune was about to be linked. 

Suffice it here, that I kept my word with Teddy, who 


430 


FAREWELL TO THE TRIBE. 


had no reason to regret having entered my service and 
secured my esteem. 

The long wished for day of our departure came at 
last, and, being one of the brightest and most pleasant 
of ihe season, was hailed with delight as an omen of 
prosperity. Everything having been previously ar- 
ranged, there was little to do but take leave of those 
who remained ; and this being soon over, we were on 
the move at an early hour, a goodly company of thirty 
souls, two-thirds of whom were of the sterner sex. 

As much of importance is yet to be told, and as the 
reader has once or twice followed me over the ground 
now traversed, I will not trouble him with a detail of 
our journey from Oregon City to Fort Laramie. 

Suffice, that we reached the latter place in safety, 
though much fatigued, about the middle of July, Anno 
Domini, 1844, and some four years subsequent to my 
former visit here, when I first beheld the beautiful Prairie 
Flower, otherwise Leni Leoti, now Evaline Mortimer, 
and soon to be But let me not anticipate. 


CHAPTER LII. 

FAREWELL TO THE MYSTERIOUS TRIBE. 

O the great delight of Evaline, as well as of 
those who sympathized with her, it was ascer- 
tained, soon after our arrival at the fort, that 
some of the Mysterious Tribe had been seen 
quite recently in the vicinity ; from which we 
drew the conclusion that they were still at their winter 
quarters on the Black Hills. It being Evaline’s desire 
to see them as soon as possible, it was finally arranged 
that her sister, Lilian, Charles and myself should bear 
her company, along with her Indian friends, while her 



FAREWELL TO THE TRLBE, 


431 


mother and Mrs. Huntly should await our return at the 
fort. 

On learning our determination, some five or six of 
the party, with whom we had crossed the mountains, 
volunteered to go with us — a favor which we gladly ac- 
cepted — as this would strengthen our party, and render 
us less liable to attack should we chance upon hostile 
savages. The rest of the company, after remaining over 
night at the fort, being anxious to proceed, bade us 
adieu, and resumed their journey on the morning fol- 
lowing. 

Before starting for the Black Hills, we procured a 
couple of tents for the ladies, which we packed on mules ; 
and then, mounting each on a good horse, with all the 
necessary equipments for defense, we set forth on the 
second day at an early hour. 

For a number of miles we made rapid progress ; but 
at length we came to a rapid stream, with steep banks, 
which delayed us some time in seeking a place to ford. 
This crossed, we soon came to another where a similar 
delay awaited us. In short, our progress was so many 
times checked through the day, that when night at last 
began to draw her sable curtains, we found, to the best 
of our judgment, that hardly two-thirds of our journey 
had been gone over. 

Selecting a pleasant spot, we pitched our tents, liber- 
ated our animals and encamped. An hour or two was 
passed in a very agreeable manner ; when the ladies, 
who appeared more fatigued than we of the sterner sex, 
withdrew to their quarters, leaving the rest of us squatted 
around a large fire, which we had started, not to warm 
ourselves by, for it was a sultry July night, but to keep 
off the wild animals, of whose proximity we were several 
times reminded by dismal howls. 

A. little before midnight our animals were driven in 
and picketed, and a guard set, more from precaution than 
apprehension of danger. This done, the remainder of 
the party stretched themselves around the fire, and, with 
the exception of my friend and I, were soon in the en- 
joyment of that sweetest of all blessings, a sound aiv^ 


432 


FAREWELL TO THE TRIBE. 


healthful sleep. For some time I lay musing on the 
singular events of my life, and then turned to Huntly. 

“ Well, Charley,” said I, “ this seems like old times.” 

“So I have been thinking,” he rejoined, “with one 
exception, Frank.” 

“ The ladies, eh ?” 

“ Exactly. I trust nothing may occur to make us re- 
gret their presence!” he added, seriously. “You and I 
have faced danger too often to fear it for our own sakes— 
but if anything should happen now ” 

“ Surely you do not dream of danger here ?” I inter- 
rupted. 

“Why, to tell you the truth, Frank,” he replied, “I 
have my misgivings that we shall see trouble ere we 
again reach the fort.” 

“ God forbid ! What makes you think so ?” 

' “ I can give no reason. It is simply a presentiment 

of evil.” 

“ But from what source do you apprehend danger?” 

“From no particular one, Frank.” 

“ Merely a fancy of yours, probably, springing from 
your intense interest in those more dear to you than life.” 

“ God send it be only fancy !” he rejoined, gloomily. 

His words made me sad, and, added to the restlessness 
I had previously felt, kept me awake a long time. At 
last I fell into a feverish slumber, and was gradually pro- 
gressing toward a state of utter forgetfulness, when a 
snorting and stamping of the animals aroused me, and to- 
gether with Huntly I sprung to my feet in alarm. 

“ What is it ?” I said to the guard, whom I found stand- 
ing near me, pale as death, with his rifle pointed in the 
direction whence came the disturbance. 

“ I do not know,” he answered ; “ this is the first I have 
heard. Shall I give the alarm ?” 

“No! remain quiet a moment where you are, and 
I will steal in among the animals and ascertain the cause. 
I do not think it proceeds from savages, or we should 
have had an onset ere this.” 

“What then, Frank?” asked Huntly, taking his posi- 
tion by the tents, rifle in hand. 


FAREWELL TO THE TRIBE. 


433 


‘Most likely some wild beast, which, urged on by 
hunger, has ventured a little nearer than usual.” 

My conjecture this time proved correct ; for on cau- 
tiously approaching the frightened animals, I discovered 
a small wolf in the act of gnawing a tether rope of buffalo 
hide. I could have shot him from where I stood ; but 
this I did not care to do, as it would only create unneces- 
sary alarm. Retreating a few paces and selecting a good 
sized club, I informed the guard and Huntly that there was 
no cause for alarm ; and then returning with a stealthy 
pace, I got close to the hungry beast without making him 
aware of my presence. His head was from me, and he was 
eagerly engaged in getting a morsel to eke out a half- 
famished existence. I believe I could have killed the 
poor creature with a single blow, and I raised my club for 
the purpose ; but pity gained power over my resolution, 
and I gave him oni v a gentle tap, which rather scared 
than hurt him, and he ran away howling. 

This little incident, though nothing in itself, tended 
to so increase the nervousness of both Huntly and my- 
self, that we did not fall soundly a^sleep till the first sign 
of daybreak streamed up golden in the east. An hour 
later we were all on our feet ; and having partaken of a 
slight repast, and lauglied over our fears of the departed 
night, we mounted our horses and again proceeded on 
our journey. 

No more delays occurred ; and ere the sun had gained 
the meridian, we came in sight of the village ; when our 
Indian companions, unable to restrain themselves longer, 
uttered shouts of delight and darted away in advance 
of us. 

I turned to Evaline, and beheld her seated quietly on 
her little pony, her gaze riveted upon the village, but 
apparently laboring under no excitement. A closer 
scrutiny convinced me I was mistaken. There was little 
outward display of her feelings ; but I perceived, in her 
ashen cheeks and absent stare, that thoughts, mighty in 
their power, were stirring the soul within. For a short 
time she seemed unconscious of anything around her, 
and it was not until Eva had addressed her thrice that she 
received an answer to her question : 

19 


434 


FAREWELL TO THE TRIBE: 


“ Is this the spot, sister ?” 

On the second repetition, Evaline started, turned to 
the fair querist, and sighed : 

“ This is the spot.” 

Then covering her face with her hands, she remained 
silent until addressed again. 

“ Why are you so sad, Evaline ?” inquired Lilian. 

“Ay, sister, tell us !” added Eva. 

“I am thinking of the past and the future,” was the 
answer, in a low, tremulous tone. “Oh, my friends,” 
she continued, “you cannot know my feelings. I am 
about to bid farewell to those who have been to me as 
brothers and sisters. I am about to leave — to see them 
no more — to go far away to the land of the stranger. 
True, you will say, I go not alone ; I shall have with me 
a kind mother and sister, ana other dear friends ; but still 
you know not what it is to suddenly and utterly tear 
yourself away from old ties and old associations. You 
know not the fascinations of the wilderness, to one who, 
like myself, has never known anything else. Even dan- 
ger has a charm to those who are bred to it ; and it is 
hard, with all the inducements before me, to break the 
spell of unlimited freedom with which I have roamed 
over thousands of miles of uncultivated territory. But I 
feel it my duty to go with you. I cannot think of part- 
ing from my dear mother again in life. As she has sug- 
gested, the tie binding me to her I acknowledge to be 
stronger than that of mere association.” 

“ And have you no other inducement to part from the 
Mysterious Tribe.?” asked Huntly, a little reproachfully. 

Evaline looked up, her eye met his, a slight flush 
colored her pale features, and, frankly taking his hand, 
she replied, in a sweet, timid voice : 

“Yes, dear Charles, there is more than one.” 

“ God bless you, Evaline !” was the hearty response. 
“We will all strive to make you happy ; and, in the joy 
of the future, you will ere long forget the past.” 

“Forget, say you?” she repeated, looking earnestly 
in his face. “Forget the past ? forget my old friends? 
Nay,” she continued, “you know not yet the heart of 
Prairie Flower if you think she can ever forget.” 


FAREWELL TO THE TRIBE. 


435 


‘No, no, not exactly forget,” returned Huntly, en- 
deavoring to recover from his mistake; ‘'not exactly 
forget ; I do not mean that, Evaline ; but rather that 
you will cease to regret this change of life.” 

“ Perhaps so,” she sighed. 

“See !” I exclaimed ; “the Indians have nearly gained 
the village, and the inhabitants are already flocking down 
the hill to meet them. Let us quicken our pace ;” and 
galloping forward, we soon drew rein in the center of 
the crowd. 

“ Leni Leoti !” “Prairie Flower !” was the universal 
cry on every hand, as Evaline leaped from her saddle 
and sprung to the embrace of her Indian friends, who 
pressed around her as children around a parent — old 
and young — men, women and children — each eager to 
be the first to greet her with a hearty welcome. 

For some time the rest of us remained wholly unno- 
ticed. 

At length, the first joyful excitement over, Evaline 
pointed to us, and bade the Indians give us welcome, 
which they did in a hearty manner. 

Approaching Eva, Evaline took her by the hand and 
said : 

“ In this lady, my friends, you behold the sister of 
Prairie Flower.” 

“ Another Prairie Flower !” “ Another Leni Leoti !” 
were the almost simultaneous exclaimations ; and in- 
stantly collecting around, they gazed upon her in sur- 
prise, and began talking to each other in their own dia- 
lect. ' Then, one after another, they approached and 
took her hand, and said that they were most happy 
to see her, and that she was welcome, as the sister of 
Prairie Flower, to a share in ail they possessed. 

This reception over, they invited us to the village, 
where everything in their power was done to make us 
comfortable and contented. Our animals were taken in 
charge and liberated, and three or four lodges assigned 
to us during our stay among them. 

On learning that Evaline had only returned to bid 
them a final farewell, the VVahsochees one and all be- 
came very sad, and a gloom pervaded the village, as on 


436 


FAREWELL TO THE TRLBE. 


the funeral day of one universally beloved. The women 
and children wept at the thought, and ^ome of them 
begged of her in piteous tones not to leave them. Eva- 
line could not witness these sincere manifestations of 
lasting affection unmoved, and in consequence her eyes 
were continually filled with tears. 

As it had been arranged that we should leave on the 
following morning, she was kept busy through me day 
in making preparations therefor. Her costume for dif- 
ferent occasions, which had been procured for her by 
Great Medicine, and which she had preserved with great 
care, together with sundry other articles and trinkets, 
some of which she had purchased in Oregon City and 
brought with her, she now proceeded to distribute, one 
by one, giving something to each as a remembrance. 
This occupied her time and attention till night, when a 
conference of the nation was called, to which none of 
our party save herself was admitted. 

At an early hour in the morning, our horses were 
caught and saddled, our two mules packed, and every- 
thing prepared for our immediate departure. 

Evaline was silent and sad, and her features showed 
traces of having passed a feverish, restless night. Think- 
ing she might feel a diffidence in having us present at her 
last interview, I approached her and said : 

“ Evaline, the time has come to take -our final leave.” 

I know it,” she faltered. 

“ As there are some strangers in our party, perhaps it 
were better, all things considered, that we should go on 
before, and await your coming at a proper distance?” 

“Thank you !” she replied ; “ the very favor I would 
have asked.” 

“ There is a little hill you see yonder, somewhat out 
of the direct course to the fort, whither we will ride, 
merely for the view it affords of the prairie beyond, and 
there remain till you join us.” 

She again expressed her thanks, and I returned to the 
others and informed them of the new arrangement. 

We then proceeded to shake hands with each of the 
tribe, which occupied us some ten minutes, and, mount- 
ing our horses, rode slowly away down the mountain, 


FAREWELL TO THE TRIBE. 


437 


crossed the little streamlet, and galloped over a short 
level to the hill in question, on whose summit we came 
to a halt as preconcerted. 

It was a warm day, and the sun, about an hour above 
the horizon, streamed down his golden, mellow rays, 
beautifying each object, by giving it that soft and dreamy 
appearance, which, in the poetic mind, awakens those 
sweet fancies that fill the soul with holy meditation 
and make earth seem a paradise. A heavy dew had fallen 
during the night, and its crystalline drops, still hanging 
on leaf, blade, and flower, sparkled in the morning sun- 
beams like so many diamonds. Above us gay plumaged 
birds flitted from branch to branch, and poured forth 
their morning carols in a variety of strains, or, flapping 
their wings, darted up and away through the deep blue 
ether. Around and about us bees, beetles, and insects 
of divers kinds were buzzing, or basking in the sun- 
light, now dipping into the flower to sip its sweets, now 
alighting on the leaf to take a dainty morsel, now 
plunging to the ground with no apparent design, and 
then each and all up and away, filling the air with a 
drowsy, pleasing hum. 

Not the least enchanting of all was the beautiful 
landscape that here lay spread to our view. Behind us 
was the little valley we had just crossed over, carpeted 
with green and variegated with bright flowers, through 
which wound a silvery streamlet, and beyond which, like 
some mighty barrier, the Black Hills lifted their heads 
far heavenward. To the right and left, at some little 
distance, was a wood, over the top of which loomed hills 
one above another, but gradually retreating, till the last 
one, far, far in the distance, either showed the fleecy- 
like palace of eternal snow, or gently blended with the 
cerulean blue. 

But before us was the scene which fixed our whole 
attention. Here, for miles upon miles, stretched away a 
vast prairie, whose tall, rank grass, gently touched by a 
light breeze, undulated like the swelling of the sea in a 
calm, over which fluttered and hovered myriads of birds 
and insects, now dipping down, skimming along the 
surface and disappearing altogether, and anon soaring 


43 ^ 


FAREWELJ. TO THE TRIBE. 


upward, cleaving the balmy air, and displaying their 
little bodies as mere specks upon the blue background. 
To relieve the monotony otherwise attendant, here and 
there, at long intervals, rose little knolls, clustered with 
trees, resembling islands pushing up from the glassy 
surface of a tranquil ocean. And away, and away, and 
away to the dim distance, stretched this same sea-like 
prairie, till the eye, unable to trace it further, saw nothing 
but the soft blending of earth and sky. 

For some moments we all remained silent, gazing 
upon the scene with feelings peculiar to each. Lilian 
was the first to speak : 

“Oh, how beautiful !” she exclaimed, rapturously. 
“ How beautiful and how sublime is this great ocean of 
earth !” 

“ Ay, sublime indeed !” rejoined Eva. “ It is just such 
a scene as ever fills me with rapture — inspires me with 
the sacred feeling of poesy. Oh that, like one of those 
gay birds, I could wing my way above it ! Would it not 
be delightful, Lilian ?” 

“ Most delightful !” answered the other. 

“ But can we not skim its surface on our fleet steeds ? 
Come ! for a ride ! a ride ! What say you, gentlemen ?” 
she added, appealing to us. 

“ So pleasant a request, from so fair a petitioner, 
must needs be complied with,” returned one of the party, 
gallantly, bowing gracefully to Eva. 

The speaker was a young man, some twenty-five years 
of age, of fine person and good address, with a handsome 
and prepossessing countenance, whereon was legibly 
stamped frankness, generosity and nobleness of soul. 
There was an eloquence in his soft, dark eye, and a lofti- 
ness of purpose on his clear, open brow, which would 
have ranked him far above the many, had even a finished 
education, of which he was possessed, been wanting. To 
be brief in my remarks, he was the only son of one of 
the merchants who had emigrated from the State of New* 
York to Oregon City during the previous summer, and 
one of the party who had so far been our companions of 
the long journey. He was now on his way East to ar- 
range some unsettled affairs and purchase more goods 


FAREWELL TO THE TRLBE. 


439 


for his father, with the design of returning to Oregon 
the following season. During the past winter, Elmer 
Fitzgerald (so he was named) had once or twice met with 
Eva Mortimer ; but no acquaintance had been formed 
with each other previous to both parties setting forth on 
the present journe)^ Being daily and hourly thrown to- 
gether, sharing alike the hardships and perils of the 
wilderness, it was but natural that between two such in- 
dividuals, of refined manners and cultivated tastes, there 
should gradually spring up an intimacy, which time and 
circumstances might ripen to something more. 

As Elmer spoke, I noticed that both his own and the 
countenance of Eva slightly flushed ; and quickly turn- 
ing to me, the latter said : 

“And what say you, Francis?” 

“ I shall echo the words of Mr. Fitzgerald.” 

“Then we will go!” said Lilian, joyfully. “But, 
brother,” she added, turning to Charles, “you appear 
gloomy and dejected. Do you object to this arrange- 
ment ?” 

“Why, to speak candidly,” he answered seriously, “I 
do.” 

“ For what reason ?” I inquired. 

“ I can give you no other than what I told you last 
night — a presentiment -of danger.” 

“ Pshaw, Charley,” I rejoined, “ there is no danger 
here ! The sadness of Evaline has made you gloomy, 
and a brisk ride over this prairie will set you right 
again.” 

“And it will be beneficial to dear sister Evaline also,” 
chimed in Eva, “by diverting her thoughts from her 
present cause of grief.” 

“ Suit yourselves in the matter,” rejoined Huntly. 
“ I shall of course do as the rest. I merely spoke my ap- 
prehensions, which, after all, may only be foolish fan- 
cies.” 

“ Lo ! yonder Evaline comes !” cried Lilian ; and 
looking toward the village, a part of which was visible 
from where we stood, we beheld her rapidly descending 
the mountain on her little pony. 

Charles instantly wheeled his horse and rode away 


440 


THE PRAIRIE ON FIRE. 


to meet her, and presently returned in her company. 
She was sad and silent, and her eyes were red with weep- 
ing, while her features generally showed traces of having 
recently passed through a very trying scene. 

On being informed of our present design, she silently 
acquiesced ; and liberating our mules, that they might 
not suffer in our absence, we rode slowly down to the 
prairie, and set off at a gallop, most of us in gay spirits, 
with the understanding that, in case of becoming sepa- 
rated, we should all meet again at the starting point. 

Man plans and God performs. That meeting, for 
some of the party, was destined never to take place. 


CHAPTER LIII. 

THE PRAIRIE ON FIRE. ' 

OR an hour or two we spurred on to the east- 
ward, in company, through the tall grass, 
which brushed our feet at every step and 
made our horses labor exceedingly, when we 
came to one of the small hills or knolls pre- 
viously mentioned, where we halted to give our panting 
and foaming steeds a few minutes’ rest. 

This knoll was clustered with beautiful trees, under 
whose refreshing shade bubbled up a spring of clear, 
cold water, with wliich we first refreshed ourselves and 
then our horses. From the brow of this, the view of 
everything was more delightful than from that of the 
one we had left behind us. Then we were looking on 
the prairie in only one or two directions — now we stood 
above and surveyed it on all sides. To the north of us 
was a small ridge, in shape resembling an ox-bow, the 
southern bend of which was about five miles distant. 
This, after running due north for a considerable dis- 
tance, appeared to take a zig-zag course and unite with 



THE PRAIRIE ON FIRE. 


441 


the Black Hills, which, sublime in their grandeur, 
bounded the view to the west. To the south and east, 
as far as the eye could reach, stretched away and away 
the beautiful prairie, with nothing to relieve its mono- 
tony but an occasional knoll like the one on which we 
stood, and which forcibly reminded me of the oases I had 
seen in the great desert. 

Oh, this is delightful — enchanting !” exclaimed Eva, 
with a flush of animation. “This' is what I love. It ex- 
pands the soul, and bears one above the groveling 
thoughts of every day life. Nature,” she added, apos- 
trophizing, “I love thee in thy grandeur and thy simplic- 
ity ! and know, as I gaze upon thee, that I behold the 
handiwork of that Great Power above, which regulates 
alike the mighty systems of ten thousand times ten 
thousand worlds and the most trifling event that takes 
place upon them. All alike move by a universal and 
immutable law ; and each, as it were, complete in itself, 
is but a minor part of that great machine which works 
for one almighty and incomprehensible design. Were I 
a poet that could pen my thoughts, I would seek such a 
place as this, and, alone, away from the discords of my 
fellow beings, write such inspiring words, that ages yet 
to come should read and wonder over my pages and 
deem them the outpourings of a holy inspiration.” 

“ Ay, sister,” cried Evaline, “thus have I felt a thou- 
sand times ; and thus it is I find it so hard for me to part 
from these enrapturing scenes. Now can you blame me 
for my regrets ?” 

“No, sweet sister,” answered the other, “I do not 
blame you — far from it. I only feel you are a gem too 
rare to part with.” 

“And so think we all,” I rejoined; “and one of us 
at least, if I may be permitted the expression, thinks 
doubly so and I glanced at my friend. 

“Ay, Frank,” he answered, “treble that if you like. 
But come, my friends, the day is advancing — had we not 
better return ? They will look anxiously for us at the 
fort.” 

“ One ride more first !” said Eva, quickly. “ I cannot 
19* 


442 


THE PRAIRIE ON FIRE. 


bear to quit this scene forever without one more glori- 
ous ride.” 

“ Whither shall it be, then ?” asked Lilian, 

“ To yonder knoll and she pointed away to the 
eastward. 

“ That is far,” rejoined Huntly, “and I fear we shall 
not get back till night, and the day will be lost.” 

“Lost?” echoed Eva, her eyes sparkling with anima- 
tion. “ Call you such a day as this lost ? Come, gen- 
tlemen,” she added, turning to the rest of us, “you do 
not think so. I’ll wager ! On ! let us on ! I dare you to 
a race ! and my glove to him who first puts foot on yon- 
der hill in advance of me.” 

So saying, she gracefully waved her hand, and, tight- 
ening her rein, pressed her fiery steed down the declivity 
and over the prairie at headlong speed. 

“ A race I a race ! The glove ! the glove !” cried 
some half a dozen voices : and instantly the whole party 
was in commotion. 

Those who chanced to be dismounted, at once sprung 
to their saddles, and all dashed away after their fair 
champion, who, sitting erect, with the air of a queen, 
was now urging her gallant beast to do his utmost. 

Next behind Eva rode Elmer Fitzgerald, striving 
hard to overtake her, followed by Lilian, myself, and 
the rest of the party, some in couples and others alone, 
each and all contending to be first at the far off goal. I 
say all, but I must except Charles and Evaline, vrho 
brought up the rear at a tardy pace, and seemed rather 
deliberately following us, without excitement and inter- 
est, than taking any part in the race. 

With the rest of us, for the first five minutes, the con- 
test appeared equal — neither gaining ground on the 
party, nor falling away from the position he had taken 
at the setting-out. All was life and excitement ; and 
merry shouts and gay jests rung out, as on we pressed 
our panting steeds through the tall grass, startling 
thousands of small animals from their quiet retreats, and 
scaring up flocks of birds, which, as they soared away, 
twittered their discontent, and looked down upon us 
with wonder and fear. On, on we rushed, completely 


THE PRAIRIE ON EIRE. 


443 


lost in the enlivening chase, and heeding nought but the 
still distant goal we were striving to gain. On, on ! still 
on ! with the fire of youthful ambition urging us to 
renewed exertions. 

At length the difference in the speed of our horses 
began to be seeff. Eva yet kept her position in advance, 
but was gradually losing ground before the fleeter steed 
of Elmer Fitzgerald. Lilian and I, side by side, still 
managed to hold our own, and were gaining on all the 
others, who were now strung out in a long, single line 
behind us. 

Half an hour passed, and the change in our previous 
positions became more distinctly marked. Elmer now 
rode head-to-head with our fair leader, but both had 
increased the distance between themselves and us mate- 
rially. I looked back, and beheld the line stretched out 
for more than half a mile, far beyond which I could 
dimly discern my friend and Evaline slowly bringing up 
the rear. Most of the party had by this time despaired 
of winning the race, had even withdrawn from the con- 
test, and were now following at a leisurely pace. A few 
yet held on, but only for a few minutes, and then we 
were left masters of the field. 

For another quarter of an hour we pushed on with 
vigor, when the panting of our foaming steeds warned us 
to check them. Elmer and Eva were the first to take 
this precaution ; and, on our coming up to them, the lat- 
ter said : 

“ I suppose, as we have distanced all the others, there 
will not be much strife between us. At all events, we 
must not kill our horses, and they are already pretty 
well blown. How much was I deceived in the distance ! 
When I proposed this race, I had no idea there were more 
than five miles between point and point ; and yet some 
eight or ten miles, if I greatly err not in judgment, have 
been gone over, and yonder hill is still miles ahead.” 

“Distance on level ground, from an elevated point, is 
always deceiving,” I answered. “But come ! I do not see 
the necessity of going further. Give your companion 
the glove, for I acknowledge him winner, and let us re- 
turn.” 


444 


THE PRAIRIE ON EIRE. 


“ Pray take Mr. Leighton’s advice, Miss Mortimer !” 
urged Fitzgerald ; “for it is a long distance to where we 
left our rpules, and our horses will suifer enough at the 
best.” 

“ Ay, ay, modest sir !” exclaimed Eva, with a ringing 
laugh. “I understand. You wish to be acknowledged 
victor before you have won. By my faith, sir, I had 
thought you possessed of more spirit than that. I am 
willing to return, for that matter ; but I cannot yield the 
glove until the conditions on which it was offered are 
complied with.” 

“Then the glove shall be mine, if I have to make the 
remainder of the journey alone !” cried Elmer. “ Do not 
flatter yourself. Miss Mortimer, that I have exerted my- 
self thus far for nothing. The prize I must have ; I insist 
upon it ; and it remains for you to say ” 

“Good heavens ! what is that?” exclaimed Lilian, in- 
terrupting the other, and pointing toward the south. 

We all turned our eyes in the direction indicated, and 
beheld, stretching along the horizon, what appeared to be 
a dense, black, rolling cloud. 

“A heavy thunderstorm is approaching,” said Fitz- 
gerald in reply, “ and we stand a fair chance of being 
thoroughly drenched.” 

“ I think you are mistaken,” rejoined I ; “for I have 
never seen a cloud of such singular appearance. See ! 
how it gradually creeps away to the right and left !” 

“ And there are bright flashes, too !” exclaimed Eva, 
breathless with intense excitement. 

“What is it? what is it?” cried Lilian, grasping my 
arm with a trembling hand, and gazing upon the scene 
with a pale, terrified look. “It is not a cloud — it cannot 
be a cloud — it is something more awful. See ! see ! how 
fast it spreads ! And thejre ! there ! mark you those 
flashes ?” 

Suddenly the whole horrible truth flashed upon me, 
and for the moment held me dumb with terror. 

“You are pale with alarm !” pursued Lilian, turning 
to me and noting the agonized expression of my coun- 
tenance. 

“Speak, Francis ! what is it ?” cried Eva. 


THE PRAIRIE ON FIRE. 


445 


“Merciful God !” I gasped ; “the prairie is on fire! 
We are lost 1 — our doom is sealed 1” 

“ Lost ?” shrieked Lilian and Eva. 

“Oh, God I is there no escape?” added the latter, 
wildly. “ We must — we must escape !” 

“ Flight — flight alone can save us !” shouted Fitz- 
gerald. “ Let us try for yonder hill 1 It is our only 
hope !” 

As he spoke, he spurred his steed, struck Eva’s with 
his bridle rein, and away bounded both with all the speed 
in their power. 

“Follow!” cried I to Lilian, imitating the example 
of the other, and, in the wild excitement of the moment, 
completely losing all my wonted presence of mind. 
“ Follow hard — strain every nerve — and God vouchsafe 
us victory !” 

It was no longer a race of pleasure, but one of fear- 
ful agony — our lives the stake, and heavy odds against 
us. Can 1 describe it, reader } — describe our feelings in 
those awful moments of horrible suspense? No! it is 
beyond the strength of the pen — the power of language 
— and must be left to your imagination. 

Four miles, at the least — four long and seemingly in- 
terminable miles — intervene between us and our desti- 
nation. Can we reach it ? We have but little hope. On, 
on we urge, with whip and spur, our already drooping 
horses — and on, on comes the mighty destroyer, as if 
sent to execute the long pent up vengeance of an of- 
fended God ! 

Away to the south, stretching from the east to the west, 
and rushing toward the north, with the fury of a de- 
vastating tornado, comes this terrific Avenger, sweeping 
all in his course ; making all black and desolate which a 
few minutes since had seemed so lovely ; rolling up to 
the very dome of Heaven his huge volumes of smoke, 
of gigantic and hideous shapes, with red sheets of flame 
issuing from its appalling blackness, as if they were the 
burning tongues and eyes of unchained demons, so 
shaped by our wild and distorted imaginations 

On ! on ! — how our horses snort, and foam, and 
tremble ! They have caught our fears, and are doing 


446 


THE PRAIRIE ON FIRE. 


their utmost to save us and themselves ! On ! on ! on ! 
— two miles, thank God, are passed ! — but, alas ! there 
are two more before us, and our gallant beasts are already 
beginning to falter with fatigue ! On ! on ! — behold our 
terrible foe advance ! his fiery banners streaming up 
brighter, redder and still brighter, as he nears us ! — his 
ten thousand scorching and blasting tongues, hissing, 
roaring and destroying every living thing that comes 
within their reach ! 

Oh ! how sublime — how awfully sublime — this specta- 
cle ! on which we rivet our fascinated eyes ; while our 
hearts leap to our throats, and our lips are compressed 
with an indescribable fear ! 

Now listen to those apparently unearthly sounds! 
The prairie is alive with millions of voices — which fancy 
would give to the fiery tongues of this rushing Monster, 
as the cheering song of his death-dealing advance — but 
which stern reality tells us are the frantic cries of droves 
and herds of wild animals, of all species, mad with 
affright, all pressing forward together, pell-mell, to 
escape one common, but ever conquering, enemy ! 

Look yonder ! There goes a stampede of buffaloes. 
Yonder ! Another of wild horses. How they tear ahead, 
with foaming mouths, expanded nostrils, dilated eyes, 
and a tread that makes the very earth tremble beneath 
them ! 

Look closer — nearer ! Here — here they come I — 
above us, before us, behind us, beneath us — on all and 
every side — birds, beasts, reptiles and insects ! How the 
animals dart athwart our course, now with lolling 
tongues, and fiery eyes half starting from their sockets, 
entangling the very legs of our horses, and causing them 
to rear, and plunge, and snort, and shriek with appalling 
terror I 

God of Heaven ! what a scene ! 

On ! on ! for our only hope ! Another mile is passed ; 
oh ! that it were another — the last ! We near the haven 
of our safety. Can we, shall we, ever reach it? Behold 
the Destroyer, where he comes ! Up, up to the mid 
heaven now rolls the smoke of his conquest ! and the sun 


THE FRAIRIE ON FIRE, 


447 


grows dark behind it, as if mourning for the destruction 
he is forced to look upon. 

Hark ! what sound is that ? — that roaring sound ? It 
is the voice of the Fire-Fiend, mocking our hopes ! Must 
we die now, with safety almost within our grasp? Why 
do our horses stagger and reel ? Have they not strength 
for this last effort? See! we are almost saved! Yon 
hill looms up invitingly before us ! On ! for strength of 
another five minutes’ duration ! Five minutes — only five 
— an eternity to us. 

Ha ! the dense smoke is lowering upon us, and we 
shall be suffocated! No ! that breeze drives it back ! 
All thanks to God for that ! There is still hope ! 

On ! on ! — still on ! How swift is the flame, and how 
tardy our horses ! They have no spirit ! They only 
creep and crawl like snails ! My fortune all to hold 
out another two minutes ! 

Ha ! God help us now ! Lilian’s steed reels — totters 
— stumbles — falls! She is down! I hear her shriek for 
help ! How strangely that shriek mingles with the roar- 
ing and crackling of this great prairie fire ! Now on my 
feet I seize her hand ! Now my horse staggers under 
a double weight ! But he is a gallant beast ; he bravely 
struggles to the last ; and plunging forward, with a dying 
effort, he falls at the base of the knoll, which Elmer and 
Eva have gained in advance of us. One desperate effort 
more, and Lilian, all unconscious of fear and danger, is 
borne in my arms into a dense thicket, where I sink upon 
the earth, and, half stifled with smoke, amid the 
roaring of a mighty conflagration, thank God its flames 
can neither reach me nor the being I love ! 


448 


PAINFUL SUSPENSE. 


CHAPTER LIV. 

PAINFUL SUSPENSE, GLOOM AND DREAD. 

O tongue can portray my feelings, my deep 
emotions of gratitude to the All-wise Pre- 
server, as, with the still unconscious Lilian 
reposing in my arms, I remained motionless 
a minute, enveloped in a pall of smoky dark- 
ness, listening to the roar of the awful flames, that surged 
around and onward, scorching the green leaves and grass 
within a few feet, but leaving me unharmed. Once, for 
a moment, when the smoke settled in so thick that day 
became night, and the air too much heated for respiration, 
I fancied we might die of suffocation. But it was only 
for a moment. A draught of wind revived me, and 
lifted the smoke, which rolled away in mighty masses 
after its master spirit, the devouring element ; while day- 
light, again streaming in through the interwoven 
branches of this beautiful retreat, made my heart bound 
with rapture at our safe deliverance. 

Lilian now opened her eyes, and for an instant gazed 
upon me witli a bewildered expression. I strained her 
to my heart, pressed my lips to hers, and whispered : 

“ We are saved, dearest !” 

“ Saved ?” she eclioed : “ Saved ? Then it was not a 
horrible dream, but a frightfully hideous reality, at the 
thought of which the soul sickens and grows faint !” 

“ All that language has power to depict of the awful, 
it was, and a thousand times more !” 

“ Lilian ! Francis !” now called the voice of Eva ; and 
springing thougli the bushes, accompanied by Elmer, she 
rushed up to her fair friend, threw her arms around her 
neck, and each wept tears of joy in the other’s embrace. 

“ But Evaline and Charles — what of them ?” cried 
Eva, looking up, pale with alarm. 

“ Gracious God !” cried 1 ; what of them indeed !” 
for in the frantic bewilderment of the last few minutes, 



PAINFUL SUSPENSE. 


449 


all thought of 'everything but escape from death had 
been driven from my mind. “ Perhaps they have per- 
ished ! Great God ! what a thought ! To the brow of 
the hill led us speed at once !” 

As I spoke, we all rushed up the acclivity, and soon 
gained a point whence we could gaze upon the desolated 
scene. 

What a fearful change a few minutes had wrought ! 
Where, a short time since, all was life and beauty — the 
tall grass softly undulating to the light-winged zephyr 
— we now beheld only a black, smoking, dismal waste, 
without a sign of living thing to relieve its gloom. The 
fire had passed us entirely ; but away to the north, and 
stretching east and west as far as the eye could see, 
spread a dense cloud of rolling smoke, amid which we 
could perceive the lurid flashes of the death-dealing vic- 
tor, as on, on he sped, seeking new victims to feed his 
insatiable maw. Here and there, in every direction on 
his smoking trail, were strewn the blackened carcasses 
of such animals as had been overtaken in their flight. 
At the foot of the hill whereon we stood, in the exact 
spot where he had fallen, lay the remains of the gallant 
beast which had borne me through so many perils, and 
which, at the very last, had saved my life at the expense 
of his own. A few rods further on was the one Lilian 
had ridden, now an ungainly mass of blackened flesh. 
Altogether, it was an appalling scene of desolation, that 
made the heart sick to look upon. 

All these things I took in at a glance, but without 
dwelling upon them for a moment. One wild, madden- 
ing thought alone occupied my brain. My friend and 
Evaline — were they lost or saved ? What a torturing 
uncertainty, where nothing could be known ! I strained 
my eyes, and vainly strove to penetrate the sable vail 
which curtained the view to the north and west. All 
there was wrapped in the frightful gloom of impenetra- 
ble darkness. They might be living, but even now in 
the agonies of a most terrible death ! and I groaned, and 
shuddered, and felt my brain grow dizzy and my heart 
sicken at the bare possibility. 

For some minutes w^e all stood and stared as if rooted 


450 


PAINFUL SUSPENSE. 


to the spot, pale and speechless with the agony of sus- 
pense. At length the smoke began to clear away be- 
tween us and the point from whence we had set out for 
the race. Alas ! it brought no hope, but rather despair. 
All, as elsewhere, was black and lifeless, and we felt our 
doubts removed by the worst of certainties. 

“ Oh, fatal day !” cried Eva, wringing her hands ; 
“and most fatal adventure! Oh, God I my sister and 
friend lost ! and all through my rashness ! Strong-headed 
and giddy, I would not heed his foreboding counsels, but 
madly rushed away, dragging him to his own death ! 
May God in his mercy forgive me ! for I can never for- 
give myself ! Never — no, never — shall I be happy 
again !” 

“Nay, dearest Eva,” said Lilian, consolingly, twining 
her arms around the other’s neck ; “ nay, my dear sister 
— for a sister to me you seem — do not reproach yourself 
thus ! You were to blame in this no more than I, or the 
rest. You knew not, dreamed not, there was danger — 
neither did any of us — and the forebodings of Charles 
were merely vague fancies without even a foundation. 
Had he warned us of certain danger known to himself 
then we might have been considered rash in disregarding 
his counsel. As it is, I feel we have been only the 
blind instruments in the hands of the Almighty for work- 
ing out one of His mysterious designs. But do not let 
us despair ! I still have hope that Charles and Evaline 
are safe. They were far behind us, and it is possible may 
have turned back and gained yonder hill in safety.” 

“ God send it be so I” ejaculated I, “ though I have my 
fears. But, Eva,” I added, “ I insist you do not blame 
yourself ! If any one is to blame, it is I.” 

“ You, Francis? But you merely say this to console 
me.” 

“ Nay, I will prove it. But for my plan, we should all 
ere this have been far on our way to Fort Laramie. It 
was I who proposed to Evaline that we should leave her 
alone with her friends, and designated the spot whither 
we would ride and await her. It was I that made light 
of the presentiment of Huntly, and scoffed at his idea of 
danger. So blame not yourself, Eva! Heaven knows 


PAINFUL SUSPENSE, 


45 ^ 

the blow falls heavy enough upon us all, without the ad- 
ditional weight of either one thinking it the result of his 
or her individual misdoing.” 

“ Ay,” rejoined ElmeV, “ so think I. If one is to 
blame, all are — but, in my opinion, none are at fault ; 
and certainly not you. Miss Mortimer.” 

But I will not follow in detail our gloomy conversa- 
tion, nor longer dwell upon our feelings. Suffice, that 
for something like an hour we stood watching the fire, as 
on it rushed, away and away to the dim distance, leaving 
behind it the most dismal scene I had ever beheld. 

Another hour passed, and still we stood in the self- 
same spot, uncertain what course to pursue. We had 
eagerly scanned every object, and strained our eyes in 
every direction, in the hope of being rejoiced by the 
sight of one living thing. But the hope proved falla- 
cious. All was silent, and black, and motionless, on this 
great field of death and desolation. 

But what should be done? was now the all important 
question ! The earth was still smoking with heat ; and 
the sun, in mid-heaven, was pouring down his scorching 
rays, with scarcely a reviving breath of air ; so that we 
could not venture from our shady retreat with any 
safety. Besides, but two of our horses had been spared, 
and these were so exhausted as to be of no service to 
us for the day at least. 

How long the earth would remain heated, we could 
not tell ; but in all probability till the day should be- 
come too far advanced for us to gain another safe point 
ere nightfall ; in which event we might again be in im- 
minent danger from the ravenous beasts that might come 
with the darkness to prey upon the half-burnt carcasses 
of their fellows. In view of all this, there appeared no 
alternative but to remain where we were over night, 
and make the best of the circumstances we could not 
alter. 

This, after the proposal, discussion and final rejection 
of several plans, was at last reluctantly consented to ; 
when Elmer and myself immediately set about con- 
structing a rude lodge for Lilian and Eva ; who, to 
thein praise be it said, bore their misfortunes with a firm, 


452 


PAINFUL SUSPENSE. 


patient and heroic resignation, that would have won our 
admiration, even had we in every other respect been 
wholly indifferent to their many noble charms. 

Our present asylum was a beautiful and romantic 
spot, of some half a dozen acres in extent, watered by a 
fine spring, shaded with trees, and carpeted with a velvet- 
like sward of sweet, green grass, interspersed with white, 
red, purple, yellow and gold-colored flowers. In short, 
it seemed a Garden of Eden on an arid waste ; and had 
our friends been with us, or even had we been assured of 
their safety, we could have spent the night here with 
pleasure. 

With our hunting-knives we cut several withes ; and 
then, bending down a few saplings, we bound them 
together so as to form a regular arbor, which we roofed 
over with bushes, leaves and turf, sufficient to keep off 
the dew at least. With our pistols, which we fortunately 
had with us, we pushed about through the bushes, and 
were successful in scaring up and shooting some two or 
three hares, which we dressed and cooked, and found very 
palatable — the more so, perhaps, that w^e had eaten 
nothing since morning — our provisions for the journey 
having been left with our mules. 

During the day we saw nothing of our companions ; 
and as night slowly shut in the scene, we gradually began 
to lose the faint hope that had thus far been our consola- 
tion. True, if saved, the same cause which prevented us, 
might also them, from venturing forth upon what seemed 
almost certain destruction. But there was no certainty — 
no, scarcely a possibility — that they had escaped ; and 
this torturing thought, added to our lonely situation and 
the surrounding gloom, made us wretched with despair. 

Oh ! what an awful night was this we passed in the 
wilderness ! One which, were we to' live a thousand 
years, would ever be a yesterday to us, so deeply and 
painfully was it engraven upon the tablets of our memo- 
ries ! To add gloom, as it were, to accumulated horrors, 
a dark, angry cloud began to spread along the western 
horizon, from which shot vivid flashes of lightning, fol- 
lowed by the booming roar of heavy thunder, as if the 
spirits of the air, bent on making “assurance doubly 


PAINFUL SUSPENSE. 


453 


sure,” were now marshaling their grand reserve-forces to 
triumph over a vanquished foe. 

On, on came the Storm-King, flinging out his black ban- 
ners in advance, and vailing ttie light of Heaven’s starry 
host, as if unwilling one single thing should be left un- 
done to make his triumph most dismally, impressively 
terrible! On, on he came, amid the almost incessant 
flashes and thunders of his mighty artillery ! 

Huddled together in our rude arbor, before which 
blazed a lurid, flickering flame, that gave our pale fea- 
tures an unearthly appearance, and made our grim shad- 
ows dance fantastically behind us, like dark spirits in a 
weird revel, we sat and gazed upon vacancy, silent with 
emotions too deep for utterance. 

Now the storm was at its height. Sheet upon sheet of 
the hot lightning, flashing in our faces, blinded our eyes; 
peal upon peal of crashing thunder, shaking the earth 
beneath, almost deafened us with its roar ; while the 
rain, pouring down in torrents, thoroughly drenched and 
stiffened our cramped up bodies and limbs. 

For two hours thus we remained in breathless awe, 
motionless and silent, ere the storm abated its fury ; and 
then only, as it were, that we might hear the bowlings of 
surrounding wolves ; which, to our distorted fancies, 
seemed the loud wailings of the damned over the final 
wreck of Nature. 

Serenely the morning broke upon the night, and the 
sun again rose as bright and golden as if nothing had 
happened. Never was a day hailed with more joy. 
With the first streak of light we caught our two overridden 
horses, and found to our great delight that they were still 
capable of performing a heavy task. Mounting two on 
each, we set out over the blackened plain to retrace our 
steps, and if possible gain some tidings of our friends. 

For an hour or more we saw nothing to attract par- 
ticular attention ; when suddenly Eva uttered a fearful 
shriek, and, pointing to an object before us, cried : 

“ My God ! look on that I” 

We did look, with dilated eyes, and felt our blood 
freeze with horror. It was the blackened and mangled 
corpse of a human being — probably the remains of one of 


454 


PAINFUL SUSPENSE. 


our companions of the previous day. A few feet from 
it lay the half-eaten carcass of a horse, too fatally confirm- 
ing our suspicions. 

Elmer and I dismounted and examined the body of 
the unfortunate young man ; but all trace by which we 
might identify it was lost ; and with a sickening shudder 
and trembling steps we passed on, with such feelings as 
none can ever more than faintly imagine. 

About a mile from this we came upon the carcass of 
another horse, beside which lay the stirrups of a saddle, 
several scraps of burnt leather, and, oh God ! another 
human body ! 

“Another victim !“ groaned Fitzgerald, covering his 
eyes to shut out the hideous spectacle. “ Who next?” 

“ Great God !” gasped I ; “should the next be Charles 
and Evaline ! But come, Fitzgerald ! this is a trial un- 
fitted for ladies. See ! both Lilian and Eva seem ready 
to fall from their horses ! Let us mount and away, and 
take them from this awful scene. If we gain no tidings 
of our friends when we reach the Wahsochees, we will 
at least get some of them to assist us in the painful task 
of searching for their remains.” 

Shaping our course more to the right, we rode away 
over the plain, fearful to look beneath our feet, lest our 
eyes might chance upon another revolting spectacle. 

In the course of a couple of hours we had passed the 
first hill, leaving it away to our left, and were fast near- 
ing the second, the point from whence we had first viewed 
the beautiful prairie, in all the enchantment of its love- 
liness, only the morning previous, and which we had fixed 
on for our rendezvous in case of becoming separated — 
little dreaming, in our merry thoughtlessness, of the 
mighty calamity hanging over us, and that grim Death 
was even then invisibly stalking in our midst to select 
his victims. 

Suddenly Lilian exclaimed : 

“God be thanked! they live!” and, overcome with 
joyful emotions, she could only point her finger and 
faintly add : “ See ! see !” 

“Ay, thank God,” cried I, “they are saved!” and 
I pointed to Charles and .Evaline, whom we now descried 


HOME AT LAST. 


455 


rushing down the hill before us, followed by some fifteen 
or twenty of the Mysterious Tribe. 

Five minutes later we stood clasping each other, 
weeping and speechless with joy. 


CHAPTER LV. 

HOME AT LAST. 


T is unnecessary for me to dwell upon this 
rapturous meeting, one of the most joyful I 
had ever experienced. No one can conceive 
our feelings but such as have been placed in 
like situations. Each party had looked upon 
the other as dead, and mourned their loss accordingly, 
and it was with tears of gratitude, for our deliverance 
from an awful fate, that we narrated to each other the 
manner of escape. 

That of Charles and Evaline was as follows : 

At the time they discovered the fire they were some 
miles in our rear, and far behind the rest of the party. 
Made aware of their danger, they sought to avert it by 
flight ; and as the hill behind them was the nearest 
elevated point, they had striven to gain it in advance of 
the flames. In this they had been disappointed. The 
fire, driven by a strong breeze of its own creating, rushed 
forward with such frightful velocity, that, when within 
a mile or so of the desirable point, they found, to their 
dismay and horror, all hope of escape in that quarter cut 
off. 

“ Imagine my feelings,” said Huntly, as he told me 
the tale, “ when, all hope of escape over, I threw my arm 
around the waist of Evaline, and, pointing to the flames, 
which, driven forward by a strong breeze, had already 
passed the hill to the westward and were fast sweeping 



HOME AT LAST 


456 

around to enclose it with a fiery wall — when, I say, view- 
ing all this, with the calmness of utter despair, I said : 

At least,dear Evaline, we will die together.’ 

“ ‘ Rather say live together,’ she exclaimed, ‘ if you 
have any means of striking fire.’ 

“ ‘ Only a pistol,’ I replied. 

“‘That will do,’ she answered. ‘Quick! let us dis- 
mount, tear up the grass around us, and fire it.’ 

“In an instant,” pursued Huntly, “ I comprehended 
all ; and springing from my horse, with hope renewed, I 
labored as a man may when his own life and that of 
another more precious are depending on his exertions. 
In two minutes a small spot was cleared ; and, placing 
my pistol within a bunch of torn up grass, I fired. The 
flash ignited it ; and a bright flame, shooting upward, 
caught on all sides, and sped away on its work of death, 
leaving a blackened circle, within which we stepped and 
remained unharmed. As soon as the fire had passed, we 
remounted and dashed over the heated earth to the hill 
before us, where, like yourselves, we passed a terrible 
night of agonized suspense. Not havin»g seen any signs 
of you or the rest of the party during the day, we finally 
came to the melancholy conclusion that all were lost, 
and at daybreak this morning set off for the Indian village 
with the heart-rending intelligence. Some twenty of the 
tribe at once volunteered to go back with us; and on 
this sad journey we had already set out, when, to our 
unspeakable joy, we espied you coming over the plain, 
and hastened to meet you.” 

“Strange,” said I, in reply, “that I should have over- 
looked a means of escape so simple as firing the prairie ! 
It would have saved a world of trouble ; but from the 
first I lost m}^ presence of mind, and thought of nothing 
but escape by flight. Alas for our companions ! Have 
you seen any of them, Charles ?” 

“Not one,” he answered, with a sigh. 

“Then I fear all have perished!” 

“ What are we to do under the circumstances ?” he in- 
quired. 

“ Why, I think we had better set out for Fort Laramie 


HOME AT LAST, 


457 


at once ; for our friends there, even now, are doubtless 
becoming exceedingly uneasy at our long absence.” 

“ And leave the bones of our late companions to 
bleach on the open prairie, Frank ?” 

“No! We must get the Indians to hunt up their 
bodies and give them decent burial.” 

This plan was finally adopted ; and in the course of a 
couple of hours we had again parted from the Wah- 
sochees and were on our return to the fort. 

The journey proved a tedious one, for all were sad 
and silent with gloomy thoughts. Traveling some thir- 
ty miles we encamped ; and resuming our route the next 
morning, we reached the fort in the afternoon of the 
same day. 

As we rode into the area, the inmates all rushed out 
to greet and welcome us ; and among them came Mrs. 
Huntly and Madarme Mortimer, almost frantic with joy. 
At first we were at a loss to comprehend the cause 
of this strong ebullition of feeling ; but we did not long 
remain in ignorance ; for the next moment, descrying 
two of our late companions in the crowd, the whole 
truth flashed upon us. 

“ Oh, my children ! my children !” exclaimed Mrs. 
Huntly ; and overcome with her feelings, she could only 
first clasp one and then the other to her heart in silence, 

“ My daughters ! and do I indeed see you alive again?” 
cried Madame Mortimer, pressing Eva and Evaline to her 
panting breast. “ Oh ! could you but know a mother’s 
agony for the last twenty-four hours, during which she 
has mourned you as dead, you would never leave her 
again !” 

But not to dwell upon this affectionate meeting, it will 
be only necessary to state, that two of the party, whom 
we supposed to be dead, had escaped, by flying from the 
field and taking refuge on the ridge to the north. Here 
they had paused for a few minutes, to gaze upon the 
sublime scene of the burning plain ; and then, believing 
all but themselves had perished, they had made the best 
of their way back to the fort and so reported. No won- 
der, then, that there was surprise and joy on beholding 
in us the dead alive — the lost found. 


20 


4S8 


HOME AT LAST. 


The second day following our return, we again set 
out on our homeward journey, in company with a small 
party of emigrants, who had recently crossed over the 
mountains from California. 

For several days my friends and myself were unusu- 
ally thoughtful and serious ; but as we neared the con- 
fines of civilization, and felt we were about to quit the 
wilderness, with all its hardships and perils, to mingle 
with scenes more suited to our tastes, our spirits gradu- 
ally grew buoyant with the seemingly unalloyed happi- 
ness of youthful days. 

Never shall I forget the singular feelings we experi- 
enced — I speak of Huntly and myself — as we rode into 
the small town of Independence, Missouri, and recalled 
the many striking events of the long period which had 
intervened since last we had beheld the place. Then, 
giddy with the wildness of youth — alone — free from re- 
straint — with no tie stronger than the filial to bind us to 
any one particular spot — we were just setting forth upon 
a new world of adventure ! Now, sobered by painful ex- 
perience, and in company with those we loved, we were 
retracing our steps, perfectly satisfied there was “ no 
place like home,” and no scenes so dear to us as those of 
our native land. We had seen danger in every form, 
suffered all that we could suffer and live, had had our 
souls tried by the sternest tests, been miraculously pre- 
served through all, been blessed beyond our deserts, and 
now felt contented to leave the field forever to such as 
might fancy it, and retire to the sweet seclusion of domes- 
tic life. 

The countenance of Evaline, as day by day we pro- 
gressed toward the East, gradually brightened with a 
sweeter happiness than she had ever known — the happi- 
ness of being with her mother and sister — of knowing 
she was not a nameless being, cast astray by some un- 
toward freak of fortune- — of feeling she loved and was 
in turn beloved. She was now entering a world where 
everything, opening up new and strange, filled her with 
wonder, excited her curiosity, and kept her in a continual 
state of pleased excitement. Eva was happy in the com- 
pany of one who could appreciate her noble qualities, 


HOME AT LAST 


459 


and lend her those affectionate and tender sympathies 
which the ardent soul ever craves, and without which it 
languishes and droops and feels there is a depressing 
void within. Lilian was happy, and my vanity some- 
times whispered me of a reason therefor. In sooth, by 
the time we reached St. Louis, there was not a sad heart 
in the party — unless, in a reflective mood, a dark shadow 
from the past might chance to sweep across it for a mo- 
ment — only, as it were, to make it seem more bright in 
the glorious sunshine of the present. 

With what emotions of wonder and joy did Evaline 
view those mighty leviathans, that, by the genius and 
mechanism of man, are made to ply upon the mighty 
rivers of the Great West, and bear him on his journey 
as he passes to and fro to all portions of the habitable 
globe ! And then the delight we all felt, as we glided 
down the turbid waters of the great Mississippi, and 
steered up the beautiful Ohio, past villages, and towns, 
and cities, where the pleasing hum of civilization, in 
every breast save one, awoke sweet memories of former 
days, and made our hearts bound with pleasing anticipa- 
tions of what was yet to come. 

On, on we swept up the Ohio, past the flourishing 
cities of Louisville and Cincinnati (making only a short 
stay at each), to that of Pittsburgh, where our steamer 
was exchanged for the stage, to bear us over the roman- 
tic Alleghanies, and that in turn for the rushing car, to 
land us in Baltimore, again in Philadelphia, and lastly 
in that great emporium of the Western Continent, New 
York. And so on, on — ever-changing, continually pro- 
gressing — toward the golden haven of our desires — 
which. Heaven be praised ! we at last reached in safety. 

During the latter part of the journey, my feelings be- 
came very sad. I was nearing the home of my youth — 
the abode of my dearly-loved parents — after many long 
years of painful and eventful separation. What changes 
might not have occurred in the interval ! — changes, per- 
adventure, to rend my heart with anguish ! My parents 
— my affectionate mother — my kind and indulgent 
father — how I trembled to think of them ! What if, as 


460 


HOME AT LAST, 


in the case of my friends, one or both had been called 
from the scenes of earth, and were now sleeping their 
last sleep in the moldering church-yard — never to bless 
me more with the soft light of their benign eyes ! Oh ! 
what a heart-sickening feeling, of almost utter desola- 
tion, the very thought of it produced ! until I forced my- 
self to think no more, lest I should lack physical strength 
to bear me on to the knowledge I longed yet dreaded to 
gain. 

Pressing invitations from us, and I scarcely need add 
a more eloquent persuasion from the soft, dark eyes of 
another, had induced Elmer Fitzgerald to extend his 
journey a few hundred miles beyond his original inten- 
tion. Arrived in the city, we all took rooms at a hotel, 
until such time as we could notify our friends of our 
presence — or rather, until I could see my parents, if liv- 
ing, in advance of the others. 

With a heart palpitating with hope and fear, I hurried 
into a carriage, and, ordering the driver not to spare his 
horses, leaned back on my seat, and gave myself up to 
the most intense and painful meditations — occasionally 
listening to the rumbling of the swift whirling wheels, 
and wondering when they would cease their motion at 
their present destination — or gazing from the window at 
the thousand objects flitting past me, with that vague 
look of the occupied mind which takes in each thing dis- 
vtinctly and yet seems to see nothing whatever. 

“ Crack went the whip, round went the wheels,” and 
on we sped at the same rapid pace. At length my atten- 
tion was arrested by objects familiar from my boyhood, 
and my heart seemed to creep to my throat, for I knew I 
was close upon the mansion of my father. A few mo- 
ments of breathless suspense, and the carriage stopped 
suddenly, the door swung open, and, leaping out, I 
rushed up the steps, trembling in every limb. 

Two minutes later, unannounced, I stood in the pres- 
ence of my parents, but saw I was not recognized. 

“ Mother ! father !” I cried ; “ have you forgotten your 
long absent son ?” 

There was a brief moment of speechless, joyful amaze- 


THE CLOSING SCENES. 


461 

ment, and the next I was in my mother’s arms, while my 
father stood by, pressing my hand and weeping like a 
child. 


CHAPTER LVI. 

THE CLOSING SCENES. 

ADER ! I am about to close — about to present 
to you the last scene of scenes I shall ever give 
of this my drama of life. I am about to bid 
you farewell, perchance forever. May I not 
trust we part as friends ? — as boon companions, 
who have together made a long pilgrimage, with an ever 
cordial attachment and friendly understanding? From 
the land of my nativity you have followed me through a 
period of years, over the wilderness of the far. Far West, 
back again to my native land. You have seen me in 
prosperity and adversity — in sickness and health — in 
moments of ease and safety — in moments of hardship and 
peril — in the calmness of quiet meditation, and amid the 
turmoil, and strife, and din of battle. From first to last 
I have been ever present to you — made you my confidant 
— laid bare to your gaze the secret workings of my ar- 
dent spirit. May I not trust I have had your sympathy ? 
that you have felt an interest in my fate ? and also in 
the fate of those with whom my fortune has been so 
closely connected? Yes ! I will trust we part as friends 
— that when you have perused the last page of this, my 
humble scroll, you will not cast it aside as altogether 
worthless — that you will long after spare me and my 
friends a single thought of pleasing remembrance. I 
can not see you — can not hear your answer — and yet 
something whispers me it is as I desire — that we shall not 
separate but with mutual regrets. Be this as it may, the 
farewell must be said — the solemn farewell : 



462 


THE CLOSING SCENES. 


“ That word which must be and hath been — 

That sound which makes us linger.” 

♦ ♦ » * * * 

It was a brilliant scene. In a large saloon, made 
gorgeous with all the luxuries wealth could procure 
from all parts of the habitable globe — with soft carpets 
from Turkey, antique vases from China, old paintings 
from Germany, and statues from Florence — with long 
mirrors, that doubled the splendors of the scene — with 
chairs, and sofas, and ottomans, covered with the softest 
and most costly of velvets — with everything, in short, to 
please, dazzle, and fascinate the eye — over which streamed 
a soft, bewitching, alabaster light — where strains of 
melodious music stole sweetly upon the enraptured sense 
of the hearer : in such a gorgeous apartment as this, I 
say, were collected bright faces, sparkling eyes, snowy 
arms, and lovely forms — set off with vestures of the rich- 
est, costliest and most fashionable make — adorned with 
jewels of diamond, and ruby, and pearl, and sapphire : in 
such a place as this — in the mansion of my father — were 
assembled the elite of Boston, to witness the nuptials of 
Evaline and Charles, Eva and Elmer, Lilian and myself: 

Need I dwell upon the scene? Need I say it was as 
happy as gorgeous ? Need I add, that the fair maidens, 
led to the altar, looked more sweet and lovely than any 
had ever before seen them? No ! it is unnecessary for 
me to enter into detail here, for the quick perception of 
the reader will divine all I would say. Enough, that the 
rough scenes of the wilderness, through which we had 
passed, could not be more strongly contrasted than on 
this never-to-be-forgotten occasion of unalloyed happi- 
ness. 

The solemn nuptial rite was followed with congrat- 
ulations — with music, dancing, and festivities — and it 
was long past the noon of night ere the well-pleased 
guests departed, and a small circle of happy friends were 
left to themselves. 

When all had at last become quiet, and none were 


THE CLOSING SCENES. 


463 

present but the newly-married and their nearest and 
dearest relatives : 

“Now,” said Madame Mortimer, with a smile, “to 
add pleasure to pleasure— to make the happy happier— 
I have a joyful surprise for you all.” 

“Permit me to doubt,” said I, “if aught any one can 
say, can in any degree add to the happiness of those here 
present. I look upon the thing as impossible.” 

“ And yet,” pursued the other, smiling archly, “would 
it not add pleasure even to you, Francis, were I to tell 
you that a dark mystery has been cleared up, and a wrong 
matter set right ?” 

“ What mean you ?” asked I, while the rest turned to 
her with eager curiosity. 

“ What would you think should I now proceed to 
prove to you, my friends, that the person you have long 
known as Madame Mortimer, is from this time forth to 
be knpwn as the Marchioness of Lombardy ?” 

“How? what? speak!” exclaimed one and all in a 
breath. 

“ Yes, my dear friends, such is the fact. Since my 
return, I have received letters from England and' France, 
stating that my late husband — for he is now dead — was 
none other than the Marquis of Lombardy, who was 
banished from France for some state intrigue, and after- 
ward restored to favor. Fearing, before his death, that 
some future revolution might again endanger his prop- 
erty, he managed to dispose of sufficient to purchase a 
large estate in England, which he has generously be- 
queathed to me and my heirs forever. Accompanying 
his will, which I have now in my possession, is a long 
letter, in which he asks forgiveness for the wrong he had 
formerly done me in separation ; and wherein he states, as 
a reason for never mentioning his title, that at some 
future time he had designed taking me by surprise ; but 
that the news of the restoration of himself and fortune, 
coming at a moment when his worst passions were ex- 
cited, he had left me in an abrupt manner, taking Eva- 
line with him — who, he sorrowfully adds, was afterward 
lost or murdered ; that of this foul deed he had always 
suspected a near relation of his — a villain who brought 


464 


THE CLOSING SCENES. 


him the intelligence of his fortune being restored — and 
that in consequence he had taken what precautions he 
could, to put his property, in case of his sudden decease, 
entirely beyond the other’s reach. This, my friends, is 
all I will tell you to-night ; but to-morrow you shall 
have proofs of all I have said. And now, my daughters, 
that you are happily wedded, I give you this estate as a 4 
marriage portion.” 

I will not dwell upon the emotions of joyful surprise 
which this revelation excited in the hearts of those who 
heard it. Suffice that it did add pleasure to pleasure — 
that it did make the happy happier. 

A sentence more and I have done. The words of 
the Marchioness of Lombardy were subsequently veri- 
fied in every particular ; and Charles Huntly and Elmer 
Fitzgerald have had no cause, thus far, even in a pecu- 
niary point of view, to regret the choice they made in the 
wilderness of the Far West. Propitious fortune now 
smiles upon all, and all are happy. 

Thus is it ever. To-day we rise — to-morrow fall — 
to rise again perchance in the further time to come. 
Prosperity and adversity are ever so closely linked that 
the most trivial event may make or mar our happiness. 
The Past we know — the Present we see — but who shall 
say aught of the Future ? 


THE END, 



AND NEW EDITIONS 


(j. W. Carleton&Co., Publishers, 

Madison Square, New York. 


1881. 


The Publishers, on receipt of price, send any book on this Catalogue by ^(isiage free. 

o 

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Mary J, Holmes* Works. 


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so 


Tempest and Sunshine 

English Orphans i 

Homestead on the Hillside \ 

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Ethelyn’s Mistake i 50 

Millbank 1 50 

E dna Browning ...r i 50 

West Lawn 1 50 

Mildred 1 50 

Forrest House.... (New) 1 50 


Alone 50 

Hidden Path .. i 50 

Moss Side i 50 

Nemesis i 50 


Miriam. 


.y I 50 


At Last I 50 

Helen Gardner i 50 

True as Steel.... (New) 150 

Charles Dickens— 15 Vols. 

Pickwick, and Catalogue 50 

Dombey and Son i 50 

Bleak Elouse i 50 

Martin Chuzzlewit i 50 

Barnaby Rudge — Edwin Drood. i 50 
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Phemie’s Temptation i 50 

The Empty Heart i 50 

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From My Youth Up i 50 

My Little Love i 50 

Carleton’s Edition.*’ 


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Little Dorrit i 50 

Our MutP.al Friend i 50 

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Great Expectations — Italy i 50 

Oliver Twist — Uncommercial., 


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A Wonderful Woman 

A Mad Marriage 

One Night’s Mystery 

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Carried by Storm . . . (New). 


50 
I 50 
1 50 
I 50 
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The Sutherlands 

St. Philips 

Round Hearts for Children. 
Richard Vandermarck .. . . 


50 

50 

50 

50 


50 

50 

50 

so 

50 


Cook Book. 


The Widower. 

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Courting and Farming. 
Kiss and be Friends 


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Victor Hugo. 

Les Miserables — ^Translated from the French. The only complete edition 

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50 
I 50 
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I so 


n 50 

50 
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so 
I 50 
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25 

pi 00 

I GO 
I 00 

3 00 

M 50 

oo 
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^2 00 
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SO 

so 

50 

50 


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Compensation. (In verse) i 50 

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Rich Medway s Two Loves. 
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so 

I SO 
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Complete Comic ^V^ltlngs — With Biography, Portrait and 50 illustrations ! 

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The Culprit Fay — Joseph Rodman Drake’s Poem. Wilh 100 illustrations 

L’Assommoir — English Translation from Zola’s famous French novel 

Parlor Amusements — Games, Tricks, and Home Amusements, by F. Bellew .. 

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Some Women of To-Day — A novel by Mrs. Dr. Wm. H. White 

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West India Pickles — A yacht Cruise in the Tropics. By W. P. Talboys 

How to Make Money ; and how to Keep it — By Thomas A Davies 

Threading My Way — ^The Autobiography of Robert Dale Owen 

Debatable Land between this World and Next — Robert Dale Owen 

Lights and Shadows of Spiritualism — By D. D. Home, the Medium ... 

Yachtman’s Primer — Instructions for Amateur Sailors. ByT. R. Warren. 
The Fall of Man — A Darwinian Satire, by author of “ New Gospel of Peace.”.. 
The Chronicles of Gotham — A New York Satire. Do. Do. 

Tales from the Operas — A collection of stories based upon the Opera plots 

Ladies and Gentlemen’s Etiquette Book, of the best Fashionable Society.. 

Self Culture in Conversation, Letter-Writing, and Oratory 

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Give me thine Heart — A Capital new Love Story by’’ Roe 

Progressive Petticoats — A Satirical tale, by Robert B. Roosevelt 


)i so 
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M 50 

50 

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75 

2 00 


I 5 <^ 
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I 00 

50 
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00 

00 

00 

50 

50 

00 

50 

00 

50 

50 

00 

50 

00 

50 

00 

00 

50 

50 

DO 

00 

50 

50 

25 

00 

00 

oc> 

00 

00 

00 

00 

00 


4 G. W. CARLE TON' 

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Comic Primer — Frank Bellew 25 

He and I — Sarah B. Stebbins 50* 

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Me — Mrs Spencer W. Coe 50 

Trump Kards — Josh Billings 10 

Little Gu2zy — John Habberton. , .. i 00 

Offenbach in America — i 50 

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Coney Island and and the Jews. 10 

Miscellane 

Sub Rosa — Chas. T. Murray 50 

Hilda and I — E. Bedell Benjamin., i 50 
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Hammer and Anvil — Do i 50 

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Cupid on Crutches — A. B. Wood. 73 

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Thick and Thin — Mery 1 50 

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A Fatal Passion C. Bernard.... i 50 
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Fallen among Tnieves — ryK 
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Drifted Together 75 

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Victor Hugo— Autobiography 50 

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All For Her — A tale of New York.. 00 

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Janet — An English novel i 50 

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Uudercurrents of Wall St.Do. . i 75 
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Life in San Domingo. Do. . 1 75 

Henry Powers, Banker. Do. . i 75 
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One Fair Woman — Do. Do. i 50 

Another Man’s Wife — Mrs. Hartt. i 50 
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Hilt to Hilt. Do I 50 

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Hammer and Rapier. Do i 50 

Warwick — By M. T. Walworth .... i 75 

Lulu. Do I 75 

Hotspur. Do. I 75 

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Delaplaine. Do i 75 

Beverly. Do i 75 

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Heart Hungry — Westmoreland.... 1 50 

Clifford Troupe. Do i 50 

Silcott Mill — Maria D. Deslotioe.. t 50 

John Maribel. Do i 50 

Love’s Vengeance 75 

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